I write in a lot of places. It kind of depends on what I’m writing and how I’m feeling.
I’ve explained before that when I’m feeling low or stressed, I can be critical of the smallest things. Because at the time they don’t feel small, or they feel like low hanging fruit, and your girl is hungry.
My handwriting is one of those things that can be easy to nitpick at. So, I write notes on my phone. I write in journals – I like the soft covers, but have a few standard spiral bound. I love a post-it or a sticky notepad. I write on my computer and I also write here.
Every now and then, I’ll go back and read through what I’ve written. Sometimes it’s because I want to see where I was then – maybe a different headspace, a different part of the journey. Sometimes, I want to see if there’s anything that I can use as a base for writing somethings new.
Tonight as I was taking a break from homework, which seems like this week may be part of the never ending pile that will become the rest of the semester, I looked over some things I wrote in December on my phone.
And damn, when I read them, I thought about how it seems more fitting for now, than it did then. I write love poems – that’s a pretty easy topic to pull at. Either good love or shitty love, love that I’m figuring out, or love that I need to let go of. Love myself, love others – there’s a lot love stuff in these fingers. And I love big.
I reread a poem I wrote in December and looking back I wonder if I knew how much more sense it would make now. Probably not. I don’t think I would’ve believed it if someone told me it would be more applicable now than it was six months ago.
It’s moments like this or when I do a chore thinking about how much easier it’ll make life for future me that I’m like yes, future Cristina is grateful for past Cristina. For thinking ahead, for writing openly and timelessly.
pencil marks on my map/and pin drops on Google/you can’t buy happiness/but you can create it/
