1. I love Avy's blog, and I've followed it for years, both out of loyalty and out of sheer curiosity and fascination. Reading about her life is like watching a gritty yet beautiful film, like stepping into a world that in no way mirrors your own, yet somehow you feel as if you've always been a part of it. She's a beautiful writer and has the ability to make reality look like a shade of gray that you've never seen before.
2. It's freezing cold, and I have no substantial jacket. There is no indoor heat here. My hands are chapped.
3. I'm sitting here in a fairly lonesome room at 4 in the afternoon (one of the worst times of day, if you ask me), it's a gloomy day, and I know exactly how it feels to uncover an object you had forgotten about for a long time. An object with which there is such a powerful memory attached that you want to both simultaneously burn it immediately and also keep it close to you for just a little while longer.
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A very, very long time ago, I wrote a post about how much I loved thrift stores. They are havens for unknown secrets, reservoirs of stories waiting to be discovered or imagined.
There's a sort of thrill that can be derived from owning something that once meant a lot to someone else.
I want to own this part of Avy's story, to wear it, to guard it, to use it for solace and warmth from the other side of the world on days like today when it's cold and rainy and optimism levels are running on empty. Maybe this is just yet another way that we can connect with people, to be there for strangers that we love.
After all, isn't that why we blog to begin with?
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