I don't know at which point we left one another, or where our paths intersected last, but I'll try to fill in the gaps.

At twenty-seven, you'll still be looking for the thing that makes you extraordinary.

You'll still disappear off to your room and dance, headphones in, no longer requiring the mammoth CD player or stack of music that you used to in your teens. You won't lock the door anymore, but you still won't let anyone be invited to that time. The man you love will accept those moments unquestioningly, with little more than a quiet 'have fun' or acknowledgement. There's an unspoken agreement between you that although you don't perform every day anymore, you still, kinda, need to perform every day. You don't know if that will ever go away. You don't know if it is meant to. You're equal parts terrified and expectant that it will.

Somewhere, in the back of your mind and despite yourself, you still believe there's an age to 'be sensible', and a time to grow up. The number is blurry and it keeps changing, going up, up, up.

You love to write, like you always have. You invest less time in it now. Somewhere along the line, writing to 'pay the bills' superseded writing about a life that you couldn't know, people that didn't really exist, at least not materially. You still keep password protected word documents filled with pieces of the same story that you don't know how to tell, or you're reluctant to complete. Your head is still filled with the strands of all of those possibilities, which never quite stay between your fingers long enough to pin down when you catch their tails.

You adore your small, warm little world that you found. It feels more your own, with friends you've made as an adult, outside of school or university or any kind of landmark moment in your life. Most of your days together feel like the tiniest little landmark moments of your life. For a while, you thought you'd never have a life that fit you as an adult - you took a long time to grow into the sleeves of adulthood. But it slips over you effortlessly now. You start to miss your beautiful cycling trivialities if you leave them for too long. It's a thought that you'd probably find ridiculous, ten years ago. Maybe even five years ago. 'Give me anything but an office desk!'

You'll start drinking tea because you'll fall in love with a man who comes from the North, who loves the chill in the air in the early days of winter, who will teach you more about yourself and what you really need, what you really value, beneath the shroud of persona you crafted for yourself. You got good at substituting acceptance and passing compliments for real, unconditional love. You had to bridge the path from home to home somehow.

The crook of your mother's hip will still be one of the most settling places to rest your head. Nothing will ever quite explain how much you miss the time that your entire worlds were wrapped around one another.

Your father's tendency towards bursts and extremes of mood and brilliance will return, and the quiet detached observer that came with Buddhist readings will surrender to his more natural state. You still see in him the ultimate in which to admire, and the ultimate of which to be afraid for.

It will take you until twenty-seven to realise how much you would have really treasured a sibling, because the three of you are split and spread over so many thousands of miles, and every time you leave them and every time they leave you, it's like more pieces of your heart shards get sprinkled across the distance there.

It will take you until twenty-seven to stop trying to please everyone, even though the instinct still fights up in your throat more often than you'd choose. But you're working on it. You're working on a lot, now.

You and I went different ways, at some point. But I am looking for you again. I'm so, so sorry that I lost you, wherever I did. I'm coming to find you, and I have become very good at seeking. Wait up for me. 

9 comments

  1. Lovely written! Really made me stop into the moment and focus on it! :)

    Lii
    https://byliil.wordpress.com/

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    1. Thank you so much Lii - I was very nervous about putting it up :) It means a lot that you commented. T xx

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  2. Beautiful Tami. Hit home more than I expected it to. Love ya xx

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    1. Love ya too girly. I'm SO happy you're back posting again! T xx

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  3. I saw this last night and made me think too - I lied in bed thinking of the same things you wrote about... and now reading this, how poignant and refreshing to see I'm not alone :-)

    Cherie | sinonym

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    1. Aw thank you Cherie - I was so worried about writing and posting it, so it means a lot that this meant something to you too :) T xx

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  4. This is beautiful. I absolutely love it and can relate to pieces. I'm still looking for that day where I wake up and feel like I'm an actual "adult".

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    1. Thanks so much for commenting Skylar - I think we're all waiting for that day somehow! Maybe the best we can hope for is to make more 'adult' choices, and just stay as true to who we are in the process :) T xx

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