The Pursuit Of Happiness Love Junk Rar
Dixie Schlatter
And in the meantime, my womanhood is blooming a garden in Atlanta, not Charlotte. I dance with my lover in the spacious kitchen of our new home, and I will make pasta on Thursdays the way my mother did. My lover is taking calls from his office downstairs and I am comforted to know that it is business is usual while my world sits still. He comes upstairs to kiss my forehead and put a mug into the dishwasher and then descends again. I watch the trees sway from the island, it\u2019s surely due to rain today and there\u2019s a wedding to attend later. I write about a different kind of heartbreak, not the one I knew before, but the kind that isn\u2019t malicious and still hurts. Grief. Forgetting. Loss. Discovery. The heartbreaking reality of finding yourself before \u201Cit\u2019s too late\u201D and the twenties are gone and with it goes the grace of naivety. We are still unpacking the house where our love lives. Art is on the walls. An ivory and black moroccan rug has been rolled out in the center of our living room and is being weighed down by books in all four corners. A junk removal service has come and gathered all of our excess, a litany of things we\u2019ve decided to let go of together. But I know my girlhood isn\u2019t here in any of the boxes left. Not physically, anyway.