7:04am I signed up for a personal stylist subscription service. I am getting old. My style is getting older. I need to have fresh clothes at least.
My original idea was to take these posts and create a permanent record. I might still do that. But the value is in the volume more than quality.
With the WIL I am more in love with the past me. The past memory. I accept that. I would rather remember what we were, what I was, than try to find it again or recreate it with someone else. That means I will feel loneliness. But I would rather endure loneliness than lose my memories. Lose my hope.
Back in November when my mom was in the hospital I drove by the WIL’s house. I saw her through the window. My mind couldn’t process it. For so many years I would text her, call her, tell her I was coming. Or that I had been there. I couldn’t reach out to her. The feelings I had driving away were awful. My guts turn gross and twisted remembering it.
The tattoo on my arm is for her. I never told anyone except her that. The clock is set to our anniversary. The words are her handwriting. The symbol is for us. It covers most of my arm but it isn’t enough. The meaning is too opaque, even from her perspective. I am going to get another tattoo for her. I know what I want. I am deciding on style and placement.
mikemeyer949 