It still feels both impossible and worth hoping for. Maybe I underestimate exactly how much I’ve done and how much more I’m capable of growing. Maybe I really will get to have more happy days than otherwise, eventually, in spite of the general state of affairs.

And yearning. Maybe I’ve held to my love like a talisman. Maybe I’m holding out on an instinct and will be proven right. I still have this dear wish for a miracle of romance, that I’ll get to experience sharing this tranquility, of getting to know someone and deepening a bond over time.

I started with just wanting to have access to my memories again. I started by saying this, but life really is the medicine. The cure is a rhythm, I think. Maybe I’ll be ready for trying to have a career again soon. I’m tranquil, but still living with that diminished but ever-present lonely ache.

but the interactions have with real people on a daily basis are in just the right increments to be pleasant, and even healing. My observation and insight sometimes feels almost as sharp as it did when I was a child. The physical activity involved has even re-toned my limbs. It’s hard to believe that

I even realized that no career would make me happier than that of a librarian. I haven’t had the confidence to start job hunting in the field after 6 months of rejections, but it feels more right to keep healing my heart right now anyway. Grocery shopping and delivery driving may seem innocuous,

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