Wendy and Lucy

Wendy and Lucy ★★★½

this is a personal, personally cathartic review. skip it.

if somebody told me we have to leave at this instant and go to Fiji I could pack up all I own in one suitcase (yes, I'm leaving all these books behind). but I will never completely, I think, know how it feels to bring everything you own on your back without a place to call your own. I know how it feels to never fit in anywhere; when that sense of belongingness just crumbles between your fingers no matter how hard you try to hold onto it. I still feel it now. I still try to find it. sometimes my own hands crush it. yet, I will never know how it feels to have this sense of belongingness and affinity solely on one thing and then lose it. I do know how it is to treat money as if it's a treasure at the end of the rainbow where every single cent is gold and water is reimagined as food. still, I would not know how it feels to sleep under the dome of the night sky because you don't have a bed.

I have heard letting go is one way of knowing you've loved truthfully but I say letting go for the sake of the other rather than yourself is what makes it all the more genuine and beautiful.

I have always been afraid of losing what/who I have and everything is twice as fragile after seeing Wendy and Lucy. it takes a lot of time and effort to build anything yet only seconds to destroy everything. I am afraid. sometimes all you have is yourself. sometimes you'll have a Lucy. it's a good thing. it's a bad thing. I wish I have/had/will have a Lucy in my life. I think I had her but I let her go for her own sake a long, long time ago. I am happy to mull over that — silently, sentimentally, sacredly.

just like Wendy we all walk, quite aimlessly, in this life, grateful for the kindness of strangers and of Lucys.

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