I'm sleeping on the floor in my fictive sister's shoebox of an apartment. My fictive sister and my newly adopted fictive brother.
Rilke's words are circling in my head.
"Es leben so viele und wollen nichts." / There are so many who are alive and yet desire nothing.
I have spent the last few years so afraid of my own weakness and wrongness that somehow I ended up convincing myself that I didn't want any of what I knew I did.
Which has been awful. To look at your own life stretching out ahead is very dreary when you believe that even permanent employment and moving out of your parents' house are too much to ask for, let alone the really delicious things, the love and magic and fulfillment.
But I am beginning to believe lately, for minutes at a time, that I might be able to have what I want.
"Noch bist du nicht kalt, und es ist nicht zu spät." / You are not dead yet, and it is not too late.