the number 8

[ 00 ]

i loved the smell of my house on thanksgiving morning.

and the look of barely noticeable white snowflakes as they hit the pavement in the winter time.

i love my dog ollie and his wet little nose that would bump me on my thigh for a cuddle when he knew i had a stressful day.

and lastly,

i loved my mom— who loved my dad who loved our little house in our little town.

through all the love that i expressed around me, all i wanted was to love and be loved.

mom says i get caught up in things too easily, and that my head gets wrapped around the smallest of ideas quicker than they form.

dad says i day dream too much, that i imagine perfect places and perfect people in a perfect world. and that the world is far from perfect, scary even. but that's what love is for, to protect you like a big blanket of clouds from the worst and darkest of times.

and if you'd ask me i'd say they're both right.

because i like seeing the good in things and people, even if at first they're hard to see.