Life at nearly 23.

george
Overlooking my balcony as the day begins to settle, I find myself querying the phrase ‘all boys marry their mothers’, as I spend a few hours of my Sunday ironing; the same as Chris’ mother undoubtedly will later on this evening. The Gaslight Anthem play loudly behind me on a dusty vinyl, the familiar licks of comfort that put my soul at ease. I’m happy here, at the very least – stable.

Moving into my own place and to a different city has led to inward motions and a movement of acceptance. While there are still things I fear, my anxieties have curled into themselves, happy to sleep undisturbed for now. In moving away, friction burns have started to ease. I’m still marked but all in all, things are less raw.

I am slowly releasing the things I can’t control, slowly putting myself and building a home for Chris and I as my priority. Other things may fall apart, or indeed, they may fall into place. I no longer feel the need to over invest myself; not in trying to be the balance in my parents’ relationship, not in trying to be something I’m not in my job.

I am thankful I have moved to somewhere more green, literally – not just metaphorically. It still bemuses me to walk past a field of horses each morning – majestic beasts, surreal even because, for me, they belong to TV and film. I feel peculiar each time I observe the road’s warning sign that deer might be crossing, as if innocent creatures really dare to come near bustling humanity. Sheep on the way to work. Me, commuting to Birmingham and its pigeons.

I feel more open here and life feels fresh. I feel more in touch with the bigger picture, the air of perspective enveloping me. For the first time in a long time, I feel encouraged. Hopeful. I can be myself here. I can start things again, I can tread a new path into a new direction; unknown.

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