Eat food from farmers markets.
Drink good tea each morning.
Read books that make you feel.
Paint, even if you’re awful.
Write, even when you have nothing to say.
Sit in the fresh air outside.
Go on hikes.
Swim in lakes and wade in streams.
Sleep as long as you need.
Work hard at what you love.
Work hard at what you hate.
Love unconditionally and wholeheartedly.How to stay Happy
The day after you left, I counted my steps. 18 steps from my bed to the bathroom. Your toothbrush on the shelf, your towel on the back of the door. 13 steps from the bathroom, to the kitchen. Your coffee cup still on the counter, half empty, you forgot to finish it when you rushed out of the door. I dipped my fingertip into it, to see if maybe it had all been a dream. Maybe if it was still hot, it would prove that you weren’t gone for good, you’d just gone out to check the mail, got caught up talking to the neighbour, were taking the dog out, were looking for something in the shed. Were doing something, something other than leaving me. One step back when I took my finger out of the cold coffee, wiped it on my pyjama shorts, leaned against the edge of the sink. Cold coffee only meant one thing - all of yesterday had really happened. It was now 23 hours, 1058 steps pacing around the house, 27 unanswered calls and one sleepless night later. Three steps to the kitchen table, drumming my fingers on the table, tapping my phone, checking the screen for messages. Zero messages, as many calls. Seven steps to the livingroom, seven steps back to where I was. Eight steps back into the livingroom, I crouched down to pat my dog on the head. Who is it that suffers the most when two people separate? The lovers, or those who love them most?
38 steps back up to my bedroom, to crawl back under the covers, pull your pillow under, wrap my arms around it and fall apart again.
Two hours later, one foot on the floor, and three years of memories weighing down on me. Second foot on the floor, 18 steps back down to the bathroom to wash my face, brush my teeth, tie my hair up. A hair tie you found, somewhere, I still remember it around your wrist, snapping it, and snapping it, and throwing it on the shelf before showering. The shelf I just took it from. Three steps into the shower, the hot water almost as soothing as you. The first time in 25 hours I haven’t been cold, But I haven’t stopped missing you for a single one of those hours. Not a minute. Not a second. Three steps back to my towel. 13 steps into the kitchen, one touch on my phone, still nothing.
Three hours, 3545 steps later and two rain soaked shoes later, but still no calls.
Now it’s been 26 hours, 4732 steps and countless questions running through my head later, and still no word from you. Sitting at the table in my kitchen, too exhausted to move, your coffee on the counter, my phone in my hands.
How many hours does it take until the heart can grasp the extent of it’s loss? How many steps until it heals?And so it starts, all the hours that are too many to count, that I am forced to get through, without you. I watch a minute go by while I think about you. I watch the seconds tick, tick, tick all through another hour, while I wonder if I will count my time without you for the next 525949 hours. The rest of my life.
The problem was
that I think of you