(no) empathy

I spoke with my friend and she said ‘In the end we’re all alone’. I used to disagree on that. Because I thought love could give you reason and make you whole, but maybe she is right. Just like you, I’m trying to make sense of this summer, this year. We felt restless, like how the ocean pounds. I need time. To process everything. Wondering if this is just me in my 20’s experimenting or if something is actually changing. Wondering if I have constructed a false self. Women seeking comfort with each other, escaping the burden of patriarchy. It’s so hard to grasp the actual role we’re playing because this is the age at which you begin to notice how strange time is, especially now. The work isn’t political, it’s about a mental state, fundamental feelings, a rallying cry. It’s about longing and loss, hope and hopelessness. Everything that happens around me is raw material, everything is usable. There is always a transaction between the internal and external world. I like to think of my work as if it were letters. Because they provide a higher form of communication. Letters are radical in their own right. More honest, intimate, theatrical and real. Something I’ll send you with thought.