Lately I’ve been thinking more and more about how we tend to form bonds with others. Difficult to quantify and probably impossible to even do so, I can’t help but try to. We’ve all been there: new place, new people, trying to find your friend circle, trying to find a place you can feel at ease and be yourself. You see folks with the same hobbies as you. Maybe you share the same ethnic background, the same political stances. Music and movies and anything of pop culture is also what we try to use. And yet, sometimes when we do find said people, they’re reluctant to welcome you in or just simply not interested.

But we aren’t entitled to their time and effort.

There’s such a finite amount of time in a day, and as we grow through phases of life, we tend to reserve that time for the people that we do care about. There simply isn’t any more room for any more guests. Nothing against you or them, no one is at fault, there just aren’t any vacancies at the moment. Some people have such enriched and full lives, some are still yearning to find said enrichment of their own.

And yet sometimes when you least expect it, a vacancy pops up and now you’re boarding, wondering how long the duration of your stay will be.

Then there’s the part of me that I thought had died, not wanting to ever feel the sharpness of that pain again. I tried to subdue it, and still am trying to. But Im happy. Im glad to feel this feeling again. I expect nothing out of it. But it’s the feeling of knowing that Im still capable of that emotion. It’s warm. It’s exciting, yet still scary. If love is what killed me, only love can bring me back. But I’ll need to be able to accept it, and also accept that I can still be killed over and over again. It all just takes one, right?

Even butterflies make graves their home.