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I'm fine, I think

You ever pretend you're fine for so long, you don't even know what you are anymore?

How are you?

Fine? Not fine. What's even the difference?

And yet, I still feel this incredible longing, like a long-lost crush on life itself. It's still in there. Interwoven threads of life's experiences and desires and disappointments tethering me to myself and my drive.

Except maybe tucked in there is the knowledge that I deserve the longing, that there are needs along those heartstrings, unspoken passion is a question too. Will you show me the sun when I've forgotten I need to feel its warmth upon my cloudy countenance? Will you help when I venture the ask? The question: will you live life out loud, the kind heard above the thunderous din of the world's noise and my own insufficiencies? With me? Sunny and sad.

Is that what it means now to say "I'm fine"? I think it might be. I want life and longing.

And how are you?

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