A couple of months ago I posted a poll on my Instagram story, prompting my followers to answer whether or not they think it’s acceptable to keep our old love letters. Here are some of their answers.
Do nothing and still be enough. This has been my mantra for the past six months.
At three years old, my biggest aspiration was to be a cashier. I honestly thought they ruled the world. I also thought they got to keep all the money they kept in their registers. Every time my mum and I would shop for groceries, I’d volunteer to be the bagger, and the employee who was to be the actual bagger would be so impressed that a 3-year-old was so kind and helpful and wanted to willingly bag the groceries. Little me was not being kind and helpful. Little me was striking power moves, hoping to someday bag my way to the “top,” to being a cashier and ruling the world.
I run up to hug you as soon as I see you walk in. I'm sitting at our usual spot in Four Corners, a booth by all the freshly baked goodness, far enough where I'm away from everyone, but close enough to see the door. I haven't seen you all summer, and the excitement becomes me.
"Dude, this is SO good," you say between bites. I laugh, I love taking my friends here when I'm home. We're sitting in a small, hole-in-the-wall hispanic restaurant in Massachusetts, not your typical brunch place, but I was immensely craving Latin food after months away in Tennessee, where restaurants like these are almost inaccessible. The waitresses are fast-talking and gruff, collecting orders like roll call, but somehow nurturing all at once.
It’s a gloomy Sunday morning today. You run in late to First Watch, mentioning something dramatically about the obnoxious Tennessee humidity and not being able to find parking. I smile, it’s our first time meeting in person.
