friendship, art, and lovers

the truth will set us free.

Good morning my loves,

I have realized writing to you on Sunday mornings is probably one of my favourite parts of my week. Of course, we have a little espresso beside us. The dishwasher is running because Sunday is for getting our life in somewhat of an order for the rest of the week. I’m having a nectarine and berry yogurt for breakfast, and of course - there’s a litre of water beside us because we have to start our day by hydrating after A Weekend.

My beautiful friends stopped over in Rome this past weekend before starting their own European summers. And as I was coming home last night, I remember thinking to myself - okay I must have done something right in my life because I truly believe my friends are some of the best people in the world. I’ll be completely honest with you - being away from your closest friends for so long makes you realize how important it is to surround yourself with good people.

Friends are family. They’re the first ones to listen to your rambling voice notes even if they hate receiving VNs, the first to pick up one of your many drunk calls on a Friday afternoon (because EST time), the first to screen record every ex’s story in hopes of spotting their new gf, the first to lift you up, to pick you up, to help you with your IG aesthetic, to never judge you. They’re your biggest fans, and you are theirs. Your wins are their wins, and their wins are yours. They’re genuine. I had to bold that word - because one, I love that word, and two - if I could chose one common trait that describes everyone I surround myself with, it would be genuine.

I just made a mental note that I need to write a newsletter on the importance of friendship, but for now, it is time for my second espresso and a Sunday Story Time.

I am going to be completely honest with you. When I first started writing poetry, and writing Failing Gracefully, back around 2019-2020 - I was embarrassed about it. It was my heart, it was my pain, and it was my grief, on paper. It was me, to my core - at my most vulnerable. And it was my friends who constantly gave me the supportive push and confidence to continue to write and put my work in front of an audience.

It absolutely stemmed from a fear of being vulnerable, and also the lessons that are drilled into our heads about art and creativity when we’re young. I truly believe it’s harder for writers, artists, musicians, and anyone who is pursuing work in a creative field to be taken seriously, without the side comments from our parents, or people from an older generation - asking how we plan to make a living from our creative pursuits.

But the relief and the release, combined with the high I would get after I self-published a piece, or if it was featured in another publication, or if someone re-shared my work - made the doubts and negative self talk slowly disappear. Art is our truth. And sometimes our truth lies in writing, in painting, in music, in design, or even in travel. And when you find people who accept, connect with, and encourage your truth - there is this beautiful, unspoken bond that is formed.

So, on to the story portion of this newsletter. It is no secret that my past newsletters over the summer have had a mention of someone who, genuinely touched my heart in a way that was so beautiful, but also so sad. And I say sad because - as my best friend says - “Everything that’s beautiful is also sad.” The most beautiful moments never last as long as we want them to, but - that’s also the point of art. To have them live forever in a world beyond the physical.

Over the years, I have realized I am someone who struggles with expressing any romantic feelings verbally. And not just to a potential love interest - but to my therapist, or to a friend.

If someone attempts to try to have that conversation with me, or to pull out any sort of feeling from me - I will stare at the wall and start talking about paint colours. I will get up and walk away, I will avoid eye contact, I will start telling a random story. And my therapist will remind me: “Emily, it’s okay to feel things.”

So, I decided that he needed to know how I felt. And there was no hidden agenda or intention behind any of it - other than the fact that, I have realized - the more we run from our feelings, the more they demand to be felt.

Last week, I sent him a newsletter. One that was heavily inspired by a conversation we had about time, and the feeling of finding home in places that we can’t exactly call ours. It is about the continual search for a feeling, and wondering if, more time will give us what we’ve been missing.

And, as the universe would have it, we ended up running into to each other recently. After a few moments of small talk, I bring up the article. And I say to him - listen - it’s never my intention, when writing about someone, to overstep or to cross a line or a boundary.

It is now him that’s avoiding eye contact. He looks down at the floor. “It was amazing.”

“You took a moment that me and you shared, and you turned it into … something that I don’t think a lot of people would be able to do.”

“And you took those four words, of ‘I just need time’. And you understood what it was that I was saying, without me having to say it.”

It is silent for a few moments. I look at him and swirl the remainder of my drink in the bottom of my glass. I grab my hair as if I am about to put it in a low bun, but end up tossing it over my shoulders.

He is still starring at the floor.

So, I tell him - I just wanted you to know that it meant something.

Which, is the truth. Nothing more, nothing less. Letting someone know how you feel, without any intention behind it other than the fact that you are speaking from your heart - is an art form in itself.

So my friends, I will end my story here. But I will leave you with this: our feelings are meant to be felt, and our feelings are meant to be shared. We can run from them and we can distract ourselves with everything under the sun. But then, what’s the point of being human? And to quote my best friend (again) - you can’t have the good without the bad, because then you wouldn’t know what the good was.

And we have art to remind us of the beautiful that will always exist. To remind us of those Sundays and those moments over shared amaro and cigarettes, and those four words that helped us face what we didn’t know we were running from in the first place.

I love you, my angels. Have an amazing week.

Emily