Last night I grabbed my notebook and went to write and watch the sunset at one of my favorite spots in the mountains. I am realizing that sometimes I am the best lover I can be for myself, so I put on dresses, pack my notebook, and drive myself somewhere beautiful over and over again and let the earth hold me.
The sun dipped into the mountains and those around me started to walk back down to the parking lot. There were couples getting into cars together—I wondered where they were going. If they were going to make dinner and cook slowly with the warmth of the day settling in their bones, or maybe they were going to the pub to drink brown beers and then switch to whiskey as they cozy up on the same side of the booth. Maybe they were going home to eat pasta and drink wine in bed and stay there until 10 the next morning. Maybe some of the couples I saw weren’t in love anymore. In fact, maybe lots of them weren’t in love. Maybe a woman coupled up with another saw me walking the path alone with my notebook and my dress and the golden sun and thought, “How nice it would be, to have time for my art and to walk paths alone.”