cottagecore
it sinks its teeth into me. i must accept it, i can't. i must stay far away from having to, i never really was good at loving my losses. i miss my journal. a year and a half of life amnesic in its pages. it's relieving not to have to tell a story anymore. to care less. mamá says you used to be so ambitious. politics, academia, a career. the file of cover letters and resumes takes up 2.4 GB. all these wants. i’ve been shorn of them all. i have holes in my mouth from where i kept them collected, before god put pliers in me and wrenched them out by the root. once upon a time, i wanted to be X. now what. it's better not to want. i can want a garden. that's safe. chickens, radishes, parsley. god can’t take those things away from you, they belong to the earth. in the beginning, man made bread and god liked it so much he became it. god is amazed at the things we can do with yeast. adults ask children what they want to be when they grow up to remember what it felt like. believing. when someone tells me i should publish them, i laugh and pretend i don't want to.