4/5 truth 1/5 hyperbole

I hate it when people claim to love their lives, mostly because it always sounds exaggerated and more often than not it is blatant lying - an attempt at covering up tracks that lead to a reality of lonely mornings and embarrassingly failing romantic relationships.

But this time I'm saying it with humble confidence: I love this little life of mine.

And I could list reasons but it would always sound like bragging. I could write what I tell them in my messages:

I run

I wear oversize jackets that make me look one-thirds homeless, one-thirds bouncer and one-thirds child

I get invites, I send invites: front row, but most of the time middle row

I don't really miss you

Or I could tell it how it really feels: how I almost started crying a wine glass in front of me on the front yard of a red cottage when they played vintage Finnhits on the sound system just because it was so beautiful and everything was perfectly aligned.

How sometimes I feel like this is it - how it feels like I'm finally becoming the complete version of myself despite sometimes waking up at night in panic.

How I do experience a certain kind of longing, but how I am plagued by suspicion that it is not something real.

How the past keeps on running behind me and still calling me babe and darling but how I'm praying for it to stop.

But I'm not seventeen anymore, not even eighteen so this is not appropriate. So, instead of turning everything into a hyperbole I'll just say it again: I love this little life of mine.