the thing is,

i don't want to be right.

i just want to be happy.

(and grief is heavy and thick and suffocating. colds even the warmest sun. and i will never again on this earth in this body speak to or hold or touch one thing from ivan. and every day that i talked to or didn't talk to ivan in his life he reminded me that i was able to be loved. and that meant something. and i wanted to be enough. i want who i am with all these mistakes i make to be enough.)

and i believe in now. in the bike rides and the dinners we make. the vegetables we grow and the things he tells me i am and the things he asks me to stop being.

i am allowed to need and give and hate and take.

and mostly i believe that we all try our best and some of us fall and most of us break but some of us make it anyway. all skinned knees and black eyes and open hands.

but i won't ask you to wait for me. i won't tell you what i can do. i don't know what tomorrow will bring.

i only know that i need this. a park bench and a lunch date and that lady who gives you her seat when she can see you need it more.