What It Means to Start Over

I still feel anger towards him.

Just little bursts of anger, like accidentally biting into peppercorn, or stepping on tiny shards of glass, again and again. I can’t help but think of all the wasted time idolizing him, dreaming of him, thinking of him. The words I wasted writing poetry for him. I have gotten to a point where I can’t even relate to the person I was even a month ago. Who was that girl? Burned and in-love. Delirious. Delusional– so incredibly vulnerable like a snail without its shell in the August sun.
Time moved slowly then, in Washington.

Here, time moves quickly. The stream of cars beyond these windows sound like fierce ocean waves. Unrelenting. The city takes quick breaths. The days become consumed by the hungry moon. Nine and a half days have passed since I have moved to San Francisco. I have made more friends than I can even recall off the top of my head, and have gone on some very unexpected adventures with people from all over the world.

Currently I’m having a beer, Karma, from the Avery Brewing Company, and texting a new friend, Chris. He’s a singer and a guitarist, and also a photographer. I’m going to be meeting with him in Oakland. I have a feeling we’ll get along. I feel anxious sometimes, but mostly I am excitable and positive. And so very hopeful. I feel and see the potential in the crevices of this city, in the smile of strangers or in the genuine actions of my new friends. Noticing the small things. This is what it means to start over.

I leave Justin’s apartment tomorrow. I’ll be moving to Kurt’s place to crash for a small amount of time. Kurt was a good friend of mine at Rutgers University. He lives out in Oakland. I’m looking forward to exploring yet another part of the Bay Area! More to come. Thanks for reading.