I’ve written these before, but it’s always worth doing again (and again, and again, and again). I’m also grateful that everyone who reads this is going to forgive me for ending the title of this post with a preposition.
So. I am grateful for…
…books, and the smell of books, and the look of print on a page. For that book-drunk, satisfied feeling when you’re about halfway through.
…the gift of having loved someone so much it hurt, and the incomprehensible fact that all that hurting was completely worthwhile, that it made me better and made my life better.
…writing. The feeling of creation, painful and then something is born. Putting together puzzle pieces.
…libraries (and the fact that every town has them).
…sunlight through Saturday windows when you’ve got nothing to do, nowhere to be. The stretched-out feeling of morning.
…conversations that flow.
…everyone I’ve welcomed into my heart and all the times I’ve said goodbye.
…when pencil pushes through paper and leaves an indentation on the back.
…when sunsets are that pale gold color, like orange juice watered down with ice.
…homesickness, because it means I’ve had a home.