sweet contentment

Everybody needs to celebrate being in love on Valentines day. So I woke up this morning, and at the risk of re-living a lot of heartbreak and loneliness, pulled out my notebook of love letters I've collected over the years. I read cautiously at first, skimming over some and entirely skipping others. But then I became more brave, reading and re-reading each, laughing at old memories and drawing myself into what seems now to be somebody else's life. It was marvelous to realize that I can now relive all of my past memories, even the ones that devastated me at the time, without any anger, bitterness or hurt.

After school, I had a cozy homemade dinner with friends, then drove home and played my cello for a while. (It's amazing how therapeutic that can be.) Then I changed into my enormously warm yellow hoodie, and snuggled under my covers with ginger ale, candy, and a book. I finished The Grapes of Wrath, then stayed up until 3 am starting Madame Bovary. Perfect.