life is a garden: sept 12

life is a garden ➿ and the roots are all touching

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sept 12 2025

^{notes taken on my phone:

↳ in an open, loving relationship with failure

↳ tall grasses remind me that

you can be

buried deep

and

really be forgotten

which should have scared me

but

i felt peace

instead
↳ today reminds me of when my step dad let me take frequent “mental health days” in high school-

tired from crying and sleep deprivation he picked me up from school, drove me around

(passenger seat is my favorite place)

thank you letting me look out the window

thank you letting me cry

thank you for reminding me it’s not all that serious

thank you for your love

being an artist makes no sense

so i kinda stopped trying to make sense of it

↳ you can kind of have a profound experience anywhere as long as you’re not a zombie}

running between jobs, i do my tele-therapy in bryant park.
_{trumpet playing
leaf blower blowing
tears almost come
i watch the fountain instead}

i notice i feel anxious. i haven’t felt that way in a while. my therapist notices as well. i feel like shit, like i’m regressing, like all of my “progress” has been “for nothing”. i ruminate, talk of feeling exausted. my speech trails off, i’m everywhere all at once, unfocused. i hate when people are unfocused. i’m behaving like someone i hate.
i tell her my fantasy, a desire to sit by a river. i realize how attainable this is. she affirms how attainable this is. our fifty minutes is up. i look up the metro-north time table to a place upstate, setting my alarm for 5:50 am.
i attend a queer lecture writing workshop that evening, one i almost didn’t go to. filling out a worksheet in this air conditioned apartment in tandem with other smart ass freaks feels good. i feel good. 10 pm, i feel serene on the bus.
sept 11 i felt anxious. sept 12 i go to the river. sept 12 i go to sleep with a smile on my face.
a moment with a river changes us because it flows, and thats its only job, really. a river is a god because it just is. a river rememembers even when we don’t. we refuse to remember things sometimes.
nature is perfect. i am a part of nature. i am because i am.
no narrative, no goals, just being.

i wonder what lies beneath ^(click).

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last edited 8/13/25