My life is messy, sacred. It is impossible to represent it in a linear timeline. It is told through moments with the people closest to me, epiphanies, and rare times when I can spend hours filling up a notebook with bits and pieces that mean something, words layered upon pictures layered upon words that are not nonsense but my own true sort of timeline.

Nothing seems to happen at a specific point in time. The past always seems married to the present, but in an amazing way, not the kind of tear-jerking nostalgia that used to haunt me. My best friends and me standing under a bridge in the bitterest part of winter, not bothered by the cold because being together feels like being home—that reminds me of the 1990s. High school’s smoky bathrooms and the gym where we take refuge in a corner under a blanket of laughter and finding the universe in just a few hours of being with the people I love—those moments are timeless. It all feels messy and it all feels sacred. It makes me feel like everything I have ever asked for has come true. ♦