She doesn’t quite understand it; it makes no sense to her how there are such prominent patterns in such an undeniably ever-changing life.
She watches the same people unknowingly pass her by; maybe in another life, she can muster up the courage to live in that space rather than just exist.
Each day is different, yet the events comprising the days run together.
Every day, she talks to her family and friends, and every day there is something new to be said.
Every day, she goes to school and the content—albeit sometimes more of a review than anything—is not the same as the day before.
Every day, she goes home and has a warm bed to get into at the end of the night.
And yet, every day, she listens to the same few songs over and over again; “Waiting Room,” “I Know The End,” and “Moon Song” by Phoebe Bridgers seem to have an extra special place in her heart, for some reason.
Every day, she apologizes profusely for things that are out of her control.
Every day, her emotions take control over her life, and every day she sits idly and lets it happen.
Nothing is constant, and yet, everything is.
She has always been more of an observer than a participant; that’s just the way she is.
Someday, she will become so enamored with life that simply living becomes her favorite thing to do.
And, finally, in her final semester of high school, she is beginning to understand why.
Because she knows, with simultaneously more certainty than she’s ever held for any aspect of her life, and yet none at all, that whatever happens is for the better.
Someday, she will find someone who loves her the way her dad loves her mom, and she will have a family like she’d always dreamed she’d have.
Someday, she will become so enamored with life that simply living becomes her favorite thing to do.
Someday, all of her labors will be turned to oblivion, and every bit of chaos will align with the stars.
Until then, though, she will have inevitable hardships. She will work as hard as she physically can and still feel underappreciated by some person who can seemingly never be impressed. She will be chewed up and spat out by life, time and time again, but for the first time ever, she is accepting that.
And she’s excited about it.
Because she knows it’s for the better.
Whether she likes that idea or not, it will be for the better. There will be an eventual moment in which everything begins to make sense.
Those patterns in her constantly evolving life are art; through learning that, she understands it now: it’s for the better.
Even if she has to continually remind herself that this insanity surrounding her in so many aspects of her life will turn to good, someday.
She knows it’s for the better.
I know it’s for the better.
