There are moments where I want to catch moments of my life and put them into my jar of thoughts so whenever I’m sad and lonely, I can relive them. 

I fantanize about this because I know it’s foolish. 

I’m that person who always gets the same order at a restaurant. I always put seven bits of granola in my yogurt. I always drink peach lemonade. I always say yes. I always end up giving in to everything.

I love the word always. In addition to just looking elegant, it gives a sense and certainty and finality. It’s a source of comfort to me. 

But always is almost always a lie. 

“I will always be there for you.”

“I will always help you.”

“I will always miss you.”

“I will always love you.” 

None of these things can be guaranteed. Friends can not be with you forever. People who have touched your life will soon take a different path in life and your roads may never cross again. People will forget about you and your name will be nothing but letters to them. People will stop loving you. It will happen. It always happens. 

So when you tell me “always”, I love that you would go so far as to dedicate a part of your life to me, but I’m somewhat realistic. I know it won’t be always, I know you have bitten off more than you can chew. 

These thoughts of no permanence in this world makes me sad. More than sad. Hours of staring at my ceiling thinking of every “always” and every person I have loved and who has touched my life. 

But if anything, this has taught me to enjoy what you have now. “Always” can’t be realible, but you can always count on here and now. 

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