I meant to write this when the horse year started, but first I needed to shed a few more things, wait for mercury to go direct, get tf out of pisces season, have a psychic phone call, and discard my feelings in a few more journal entries. 

I also haven’t written a lot the past few months, and I feel a little rusty. I’m completely out of practice writing my feelings. My journal has been dry, my thoughts don’t know what rules to play by anymore, and I feel like an athlete stepping back onto the field after a season off.

But the gate is open. And I’m ready to run. 

I’ve always relied on time stamps to help me process change. It’s why holidays are so big for me, and why astrology is an obsession. I know how to prepare for the feelings that holidays bring up. I know how to plan for the vibes of each astrological season. But I would still always cower to change with my tail between my legs. Then, as the new Fire Horse Year started to approach, I said, “yes, finally.” 

And I realized my feelings had changed towards change. 

A few years ago I got a tattoo of “Right Where You Left Me” by Taylor Swift. It sits on the back of my arm as a postage stamp with a girl with pinned up hair sitting at a table with a single candle. I won’t explain the whole song if you don’t know it, but it used to be my favorite Taylor song before she released “I Hate It Here.” After I got the tattoo, I told my mom I feel kind of silly that thats my favorite song. I hadn’t been 23 yet, and I hadn’t experienced a heartbreak yet, so the song shouldn’t leave that great of an impact yet. 

“No, you haven’t experienced those things. But there’s still a reason you feel what she’s singing about so strongly. What’s the reason?” 

“Because I let the dust collect on top of me. Because I am always still sitting at the restaurant, letting things happen to me, and I can never seem to get up and leave.”

I started crying after speaking those emotions out loud for the first time, and my mom gave me a soft smile at already knowing this about me, like mothers always do. 

Well now I’ve been 23, I’ve experienced many heartbreaks, but one thing is different. 

I’m standing up from the table. And I’m walking out of the restaurant. 

Because living for the hope of something coming back starts to turn into a death by self-abandonment. 

As I stood at the door of the restaurant, I was still looking back at the table for the past two months. In those two months, which somehow felt like a lifetime and no time at all, a relationship quickly peaked and fell. He walked away from the table, but there was never space for me to begin with, and I won’t stay where I am not known. But it wasn’t just him and the table, the entire restaurant started shifting around me. I watched as plans fell through and I had five days to pack and find a new place to live. But I left the wilted flowers of old things on the table, not needing them in my new apartment where I live alone. And then all the other little things in between swept the rest of the restaurant away. And suddenly I had never felt more alone, but I also have never felt more free. 

I blinked and suddenly everything was shifted and changed around me. That’s how my life has always been, and it’s something I’ve always tried to slow down. I dig my feet in and think if I keep my eyes closed maybe time will stop passing for a second. 

But I am not built to move slowly. 

I realize that when I think about mine and Jacqueline’s relationship. Nobody could ever keep up with our conversations because we were following the same five threads in the span of a minute. All of our nights out turned into 20 different side quests because we couldn’t sit still. Our life plans would change every week with fully detailed jobs and outfits and lovers. Our ideas never stopped, and our stories always advanced the plot. 

I stopped moving when she passed. I stopped talking because nobody could follow my same five threads of conversation. I stopped going out because none of the side quests would make me collapse with laughter like they did with her. 

But Jacqueline is still standing in front of me, and now she’s jumping with joy that I’ve finally realized this and is pulling at my arms to run with her again. 

So I’m running. I’m letting my feet pick up the pace and leap and dance and feel light on the pavement. 

And I think I like feeling my lungs expand with air as I do. It’s a sign that I’m alive. 

And believe me I have lived. I’ve lived more lifetimes than I can count sometimes. Instead of being sorrowful that those lives are over, I’m beginning to feel appreciative that I get to experience so many timelines. 

So I’m sprinting into the Fire Horse Year, lungs full of air, moving faster than I can explain, but exactly how I’m meant to. 

After all, Jacqueline and I were always on fire in her top down mustang. So giddy up, bitches.