Your Name.

Your Name.

at this point, this feels warm in a familiar way—coming back to this is like staying in bed after snoozing your alarm. it's a retreat and a return. watching this with my workshop pals made my heart about fourteen kinds of sentimental. i'm nostalgic for something that hasn't yet passed. i'm so thankful for the people i get to work with, the people i get to creatively collaborate with. the amount of love in the room between my pals from workshop... i've been in a handful of writing groups, and this one is particularly special. i was reminded of its preciousness in the way everyone watched Your Name, with such interest and genuine joy.

to have one person sincerely and truly love your art is one thing. to find yourself in a room full of people who care, who will risk being vulnerable with you, who will pay attention, and listen, and hear you—i don't know how i got so lucky. i think it's better to not waste time dwelling on that, and instead revel in each small moment as it comes, before it passes: like wednesday night, when we sat in my dark living room, with too many bottles of tequila, too many bowls of snacks, the ice already melting in the lukewarm coke, the soft sounds of chewing like white noise. we have built our own little community, and it's no less a miracle than it is chance we've come together like this, so many small paths just happening to intersect at the right moment. i know this isn't about Your Name, but this is me reckoning with the few weeks i have left with some of my favorite people in an environment we'll probably never have again. this is a love letter, really, to new friends & old collaborators.

the only thing i have loved more than the words themselves are the people who make them. thank u all

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