I decided to go vegan when I got home from a summer abroad and realized I had gained 10 pounds. I have been vegetarian since I was in 10th grade, and before traveling I had been off dairy for six months to see if it would help clear my skin. (Hint: it did.) But I was going to the land of pizza and cappuccinos... so I went from zero to 1,000 in dairyland as soon as I got off the plane. It was six weeks of salty, creamy, sugary bliss. Then I got home, returned to reality, stepped on a scale, and took a long look in the mirror at the bumps all over my face. It was time to change. And since then, I have never looked back.
All the movies and books and songs talk about falling in love. It is all romanticized... hyper-romanticized. But what about falling out of love? Why don't more people talk about that?
I didn’t want to leave. I thought I did, until the time came to pack up the house, and I found myself moving apparently slower than everyone else as I attempted to repack my suitcases. At the time I blamed it on a foggy night that led to a foggy brain, on the midnight cold of the oncoming autumn that seemingly had gone to my fingertips, and inhibited me from truly getting anything done that needed to be done before we left. Only now, on the plane, has my mind begun to move again. Yet the more I regain my consciousness, the more I begin to lose something currently much more valuable to me. I may be more aware of my surroundings, but as I watch miles pass by underneath us, what my surroundings quite mean I have lost.
i meet your eyes in the place
all this time i’ve spent believing