This is life.
There is absolutely no consistency.
Every week something shifts.
Your mood + their mood, makes for interesting dialogue, interesting exchange, interesting reaction.
this is my life. feeling my way through every last bit of fire, water, air, earth.
placing expectations onto people who didn't ask for my expectations, getting disappointed and blaming them instead of looking at myself.
talking myself in and out of love like the freaking whirlwind of a water sign I am, then digging my heels in deep, mad, crazy, like the fixed Scorpio Sun Sign that rings true to my core.
i can paint, write, read a novel, and somehow still forget to put the clothes away, somehow I put the ice cream in the fridge, the chips in the freezer and still manage to forget to roll the trash to the edge of the lawn every Sunday night.
can we celebrate all of this? Every bit of it?
Can we not care if someone wears Goodwill or Prada, can we not give two shits if someone eats with their hands or a fork, as long as they give a shit about where the food on their plate comes from. Can we give a shit about stuff like that please?
Can you celebrate your chaos? Your distractions? Your ability to forget one thing, while holding onto another? And then love the part of you that loves the humans, animals, stars, moon, sun, plants? Love the part of you that cries because the flower growing in the crack of the sidewalk is just so beautiful.
You're just so beautiful.
Do you see it too?