I love you so much. That was god damn beautiful. It’s a foggy wet day in San Francisco. I’m journaling but losing focus to look at my phone only to find your post. I’m in a grief haze at the moment and it felt good to be transported somewhere else for a few mins. It’s so nice to step into your stories. It makes coming back to my dining room table feel a lot softer.
Illyanna, you write holes in the 📝 paper, you mine gold from your memories and from your everyday current living. I wish I could hand you keys 🔑 to a permanent place that gives you comfort and joy. This opens up my heart and eyes; as you so often do. Thank you for continuing to find words and share them with us.
Ooomph - the perfume of these places 👃🏽! The way you write us into your stories as you, as the house, as the breezes that waft in. I’m there - and I’m remembering memories I don’t even have, and welling up about my battle-axe mother aging… and you got me craving Popeye’s chicken, too?! Damn 🍗! LOL
well, damn....just , yup, wow that's one hell of an early morning essay of sifting through thoughts. It feels like a philosopher's question - " When does your childhood home no longer feel like your home?" Like depending on the day, time, age, weather, moon cycle, season, emotional barometer, alcohol intake... the answer to that question could circle around itself over and over and over again. Where the answer is as fluid or as gaseous or as solid as we need it to be. Now you got me thinking thoughts. As always thanks for taking us on that journey and sharing.
Beautiful isn't the right word for this, although it's accurate, but it's the closest I can come up with right now. Thank you.
I love you so much. That was god damn beautiful. It’s a foggy wet day in San Francisco. I’m journaling but losing focus to look at my phone only to find your post. I’m in a grief haze at the moment and it felt good to be transported somewhere else for a few mins. It’s so nice to step into your stories. It makes coming back to my dining room table feel a lot softer.
I'm sorry you're in a grief haze. I'm always here if you wanna talk, you know?
Thank you so much 🥰
Illyanna, you write holes in the 📝 paper, you mine gold from your memories and from your everyday current living. I wish I could hand you keys 🔑 to a permanent place that gives you comfort and joy. This opens up my heart and eyes; as you so often do. Thank you for continuing to find words and share them with us.
My "like" heart is really a hug here.
Very moving essay ❤️
Thank you
Ooomph - the perfume of these places 👃🏽! The way you write us into your stories as you, as the house, as the breezes that waft in. I’m there - and I’m remembering memories I don’t even have, and welling up about my battle-axe mother aging… and you got me craving Popeye’s chicken, too?! Damn 🍗! LOL
"battle-axe mother aging." That was intense.
You’re telling me! 😮💨😭
well, damn....just , yup, wow that's one hell of an early morning essay of sifting through thoughts. It feels like a philosopher's question - " When does your childhood home no longer feel like your home?" Like depending on the day, time, age, weather, moon cycle, season, emotional barometer, alcohol intake... the answer to that question could circle around itself over and over and over again. Where the answer is as fluid or as gaseous or as solid as we need it to be. Now you got me thinking thoughts. As always thanks for taking us on that journey and sharing.
You hit the nail on the head.
When your home no longer feels like it....so true for so many, including me! Beautifully written.
Thank you for your writing.