Querencia

  commitment (n.) 1610s, "action of officially consigning to the custody of the state," from  commit  +  -ment . (Anglo-French had  commettement. ) Meaning "the pledging or engaging of oneself, a pledge, a promise" is attested from 1793; hence, "an obligation, an engagement" (1864). As the weather shifts maybe life shifts with it. Maybe emotions and promises shift with the change of weather. My life has shifted over the past week to undo the promise of commitment that we shared. It was honest, realistic, rational, and relatable. Knowing the odds were against us, we made a decision and undo a promise.  Love exists here. It always has. It always will.  But reframing this love has been arduous on the heart, arduous for my mind. But I understand it fully as time continued the distance grew further. So I ask myself, how do I exist in this world with this big love and how do I carry it? How do I carry it without breaking? How do I make it less heavy?...

 How lucky am I to be loved by you? We met in the balmy summer of 2012. I turned 21 that summer- the summer I met you and I knew my life would never be the same. I was a keen young woman, looking for adventure in Madrid, knowing that I had to go to Paris to study for a bit. My friend recommended that I reach out to you as I knew no one in Madrid besides the person's couch I was crashing on and the front desk worker of the hostels I would switch in and out of.  I remember walking down the halls of the Prado and Reina Sofia together. I distinctly remember the look in your eyes as you explained some of your favorite paintings. I remember the tamber of your voice. And all I yearned for was time with you. And I got time. I got those few weeks that summer of 2012 in Madrid with you.  When I left you at the end of that balmy summer, there was turmoil within me. Leaving you felt like I had to leave a part of something bigger behind, a part that I didn't quite seem to know, but fe...

will I struggle constantly over you will I ever forget the feel of you but why am I here, laying in the sweater you gave me the one you never asked for back will I forever have to dance to the songs we loved alone twirling myself with the seams of your ghost your fingers strumming my guitar urging me to come closer to your heart  The falling was the best part  The staying the hardest  The San Francisco fog rolled in Lost in the motion of the mess  You asked me to write a song  and it takes me back to that day under the sun when nothing you could do or say would be wrong  our excitement at the start line, waiting for the gun