Joy is like some strange nocturnal flower. Often blooming large when you can’t consciously make out that it’s there, or are quite able to appreciate it fully. The rest of the time it stays hidden, obscured, and tucked into itself. Always a possibility, but never certain.
today, i love you
Sometimes I can’t stand Toronto. I think that often happens with the place you’re from and have spent most of your time. Sometimes though, that place can feel perfectly like home. Maybe it’s fall, but trekking across the city this morning, there’s nowhere else I could have imagined wanting to be.
3 notes