Fields.

Sometimes I want to drive into the middle of nowhere, sit in the middle of a field, and scream my brains out. Then cry my heart out. Then figure out where I'm going from there.

I wonder if the reason I feel so solitary is because my soul is almost done with this journey, and if I had a kid or a lover I'd be leaving them too early, and the damage done would make me come back again to learn my lesson.

I fake my happiness so much that I don't know when I truly feel it thrumming anymore. I never fake gratitude though. That's a perk.

I want to lie on the grass and look at the sky, all day if I wanted to. I want to go to the beach and put my feet in the ocean and remember why I'm here in the life I've chosen.

I feel a profound sense of guilt about Jim. He seems so sad about us, and I just wanted to go slow. When I saw him rushing and I had to be the one to constantly put on the brakes, a wall started to develop. Absolutes are a scary thing. I can't deal with "always" from the get-go. Unyielding devotion needs to be tempered, like steel, over time. You try to form it too quick and it'll snap in its development.

I think I'll spend the weekend lying in the grass somewhere.

Maybe it'll serve as a reminder on what the journey is about before you end up in the ground.

"I lingered round them, under that benign sky; watched the moths fluttering among the heath, and hare-bells; listened to the soft wind breathing through the grass; and wondered how any one could ever imagine unquiet slumbers for the sleepers in that quiet earth." –Emily Brontë, Wuthering Heights