B.K. Borison

And isn’t it silly, to love the way someone’s things look like next to yours? Little bits and pieces of a life lived in parallel

Just because you let yourself love someone, doesn't mean they’re going to leave.”

He twists it lightly and tugs once. “I know you can take care of yourself. You’ve been doing that as long as I’ve known you. But let me hold your hand while you do it, okay?”

“Continue. Listen. You’ll find your way.”

“I heard some of them crying, I think.”

“What?”

“The strawberries,” he explains. “I heard some of them crying.”

“It’s because their parents were in a jam, I think.”

For everyone looking for their happy.

I hope you know how brave you are.

Remembering is a slippery slope into wanting

“I don’t think it would hurt,” she offers. “But please give yourself a break. Drink a latte.” She pauses for a second. “Find out if the man owns gray sweatpants.”

“It’s okay if it takes you some time to find it again. And it’s okay if you find it just to lose a bit of it here and there. That’s the beauty of it, yeah? It comes and goes. Not every day is a happy one and it shouldn’t be. It’s in the trying, I think.”

I clear the cobwebs out of my throat. “Trying to be happy?”

“No.” He shakes his head once. “That doesn’t work. Trying to be happy is like—it’s like telling a flower to bloom.” He crosses his ankles and drags his palm against his stubble. “You can’t make yourself be happy. But you can be open to it. You can trust yourself enough to feel it when you stumble on it.”