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I forgot what day it was. I was going through my old journals, looking for a letter that I wrote to an ex. I found it a couple months ago, when my friends and I were reading our journals out loud to each other, which was desperately embarrassing. Today, it felt more pressing than ever to remember what I’d said. That’s when I realized what day it was. July 19th. I don’t know what it is about this day, maybe it’s the way that the city feels slightly off, but somehow they all come back to me. Not literally. Just in the ending and beginning of three relationships, returning, all at once. I’ve been broken up with on July 19th. And I told another boy that I loved him a few years later on the same day. And **** ***** ** on July 19th.

And now, again. I just got a text from an ex that I’d been waiting to hear back from. I saw him later that night. He gave me the answer that I was looking for or at least part of it. It wasn’t even that I’d been waiting for the message. Waiting usually requires some sort of anticipation. It was just quiet until it wasn’t. I don’t know what it is about this day. It holds no significance. And typically, I don’t even remember what day it is or what has happened in the past, but today I did. Today it was more apparent. I don’t believe in coincidences as much as I used to.

We’re on the phone, but I can’t focus. I miss when we’d stay up all night, believing we were immortal. My ribs hurt. I can’t hear what she’s saying, and it feels impossible to speak. There’s a pain in my chest. She says it must be anxiety, but it’s not. I don’t think it is. This is a pain. And I’m afraid now that it may be my lung collapsing. What does that even feel like? How would I know if it was.

I have conversations with you in my head. All day long. It’s starting to drive me insane. I can’t tell the difference between what’s typical of daydreaming and what is too much. I’m living in a state of disillusionment. I feel like I’m in the allegory of the cave, and I don’t know if I’m chained to the walls watching the shadows or discovering that there’s something beyond the reflections. I ask you how you are or if you loved me back then.

I don’t think that the answers even really matter. I don’t really care to find out if the shadows aren’t real. Or if I’ve already discovered the world outside the cave. I’m starting to think that the distinction between the shadow and the object aren’t so apparent. Or important. It’s probably the reason why I have conversations in my head because at some point we’re all just trying to show each other what we believe to be real. To be the truth. And I can’t control if you believe me or not. I haven’t talked to you in years, and what would the difference be if you were answering the questions that I’m asking you rather than me answering them for myself. Sometimes I can’t tell my dreams from my days. I don’t know if it matters. Or if it’s just an issue that is too far gone to fix. Sometimes I think I just know too much. Could just be going insane.

I can’t believe it’s already the end of July. It’s hot by the pool, and I’m thinking about our conversation last night. I told him that he was in my dream. He was comforting me, but I can’t remember why. I keep being comforted in my dreams, but wake up not remembering what was wrong. What did I need to be comforted about?

It’s 1 AM and they want beer. I’ll drive given sainthood by sobriety. But everyone wants to come. I guess we all want something to do or somewhere to go. Hoping that we’ll find something out there beyond the corner store. Something that we can deem better than the night, the silence, or each other.

I’m at a party that I don’t want to be at. I don’t know what my problem is. Maybe it’s being 22 in a city that isn’t really a city at all. But I can never figure out whether I hate being alone or being at a party more. Right now, I’m stuck in limbo. Walking up and down the stairs. They’re doing ketamine in the bathroom. And I want to leave. I’m sitting at the car while he rolls a joint. We’ve lost our friends in the party. I’m staring out at the lights of the city. From here, they all seem to merge into one. I laugh at something he says, I can’t remember what. All I can think about is how I can’t leave Los Angeles. Even if I don’t want to be here right now.

I’m in therapy, talking about nothing in particular. My therapist says that some of us want to be grounded and some of us want to have wings, to feel like we can fly. I think I want to be grounded so that I can feel safe enough to fly. Apparently, this is associated with deep rooted control issues. It makes sense. I’m 22 and sober. And I was never really addicted to anything other than control. A desire to know what happens next.

My sister and I are looking at plane tickets to New York. I tell her that I need more time to think about it. I say it’s because of the cost and not knowing what I’ll do there, but the truth is, I don’t want to leave. When I wake up, I check the flight, it’s sold out. Maybe it’s a sign. I don’t think it is though. It says more about me than the universe. My sister is the kind of person who wants to feel like she can fly. I am not.

I took a vow of silence today. I’ve been talking more than usual, and I don’t know why. I don’t really like talking or having people hear what I’m saying. So, I’ve taken a vow of silence. I don’t plan on breaking it until a guy approaches me on the beach. He compliments me and asks for my number. I respond quickly, no, sorry. Immediately, I feel bad that I don’t say more. Too sharp, too short. I don’t know if I feel bad for him or myself. My vow of silence has been broken.

I just got out of the water, and Olivia is calling me. She’s in LA now and she misses me. I miss her. We’re talking about how anytime we come back to LA, we feel like transplants. Like we’re realizing again that we could live here. That’s the thing about this place, you don’t realize how much you love it until you leave and come back. Almost like the city is driving you out then waiting for you to return.

It’s past midnight, and we’re outside in the alley. They’re smoking, and I feel like I may as well be stoned too. Dancing. We keep setting the neighbor’s motion sensor lights off. His arm is around me as we walk down to the lookout. Running to the beach. He’s leaving tomorrow and then she’ll be leaving too. And I’m just here now. Everything is going to keep coming, and I can’t stop it.

There’s a heat wave in Los Angeles. I’m driving through the Malibu Canyon, and I’m worried my car is going to break down. I text Olivia that I’m on my way.

I can’t believe it’s still August. This summer feels endless. Probably because I’m not going back. I have nothing to count down to. I’m just here. Until I’m not. I like it here. I wonder if it’ll change when she leaves. I’ve always hated being left alone. Being alone in general. It used to drive me insane. Right now, I don’t mind it so much.

Olivia runs out. She’s barefoot and laughing, spinning in circles. I’ve never seen her in LA before, but this is the epitome of everything I wanted when I was seventeen. The part of LA where everyone feels lighter, almost like they’re light themselves. This is the LA that I wished to grow up in. The one that I prayed for entry into.

I drive home on the PCH. The sun is setting behind me. And I want to go back. I want to stay in that world forever.

I’m meeting an ex for coffee today. I don’t even know if I should say that we’re exes. We never officially dated, but that’s how things go with me. For him, for us, it feels like the only term that fits - in short. We saw each other almost everyday for three weeks. Even though the end was inevitable. I went off to college and he moved to Europe. I suppose that means we both made poor decisions.

I didn’t think I’d ever see him again. But then he came back. It’s been four years. The last time that I saw him was the night we said goodbye. We’ve only talked once since then, a few summers ago. When, somehow things between us felt closer and also far apart.

We’ve gotten older. Been to different cities, become different versions of ourselves, and it’s apparent. But there’s something between us, and I can tell that he cares about me. It’s nice. I wasn’t even sure of his feelings back then. We’ve both moved on, but it’s nice to know that it was real even if I didn’t always know it.

I’ve always hated giving up past relationships. It isn’t that I want them back. I don’t. I just don’t want them to leave me completely.

There are three things that happen when you see an ex. The obvious one is sex. The most common one is that one of us still has feelings while the other does not. The last is my favorite. And it rarely happens. It’s that both of us are ok with what we were to each other, and what we are now even if it’s different than before. Sometimes, the love from the past is even more apparent than it was at the time, enough that we can be there and leave again.

Los Angeles makes me more spiritual than I want to be. It’s inescapable. Almost like everyone here knows something that others don’t.

I’m realizing that I know less at 22 than I thought I did at nineteen. Or maybe, I’m just more aware of what I do and don’t know. That summer, I thought I’d figured out everything that was coming, but I hadn’t. I thought that I wasn’t ready for you, but now I think it’s you that wasn’t ready for me.

It’s late, I should go. I don’t think I’ll ever have you, not completely. I can keep thinking about it, or I can just let it keep coming. I’ve been trying to write away from LA because I’m planning to move. Like if I avoid it for long enough, I can sneak away without the city noticing. It’s masochistic that I’m here now. Because I never want to leave.

It’s embarrassing to love LA. But, for me, it’s inevitable. It’s like the city becomes a part of you before you even have the chance to stop it. And by the time you realize it, you’re already halfway gone.

I’m going to a party by myself tonight. I’m following the moon through downtown Los Angeles, losing sight of it when I pass the city. I’ve always found downtown intriguing, in the sense that it’s the only part of LA with buildings that could even be considered skyscrapers. Watching it pass, it feels untouched. As if, LA needed it to be considered a city. I’ve lost the moon for good, but it doesn’t matter. It’s what's beyond that I’m searching for, the eternity that exists here. LA is a paradox. There’s fear and freedom. I can feel it vividly tonight. The city seems to call out, taunting me. As if the moment I grasp a hold of it, it’ll let me go.

If someone were to look over at me, they’d probably assume that I was bored or trying too hard, but the truth is, I’m comfortable here. At least for a while. I stay, wondering what the city has to offer me tonight. I get up to dance. It’s just me and the dj who is making out with a girl, who I think may be his girlfriend. Until I hear another girl whisper about how she used to have lots of sex with him, but then he showed up here with her instead. That’s the thing about LA, everyone seems to be far apart from each other until they’re not. I can feel the discomfort in my body, urging itself to let go. Be free.

There’s a curtain at the back of the room, and I watch as people keep disappearing behind it. I wonder what the world is like behind that curtain. She’s building a universe around herself. One that I dream of being a part of. I want to tell her to take me with her when she goes. I can smell the ketamine in the air, and even in my sobriety, I am captivated. It’s true - my LA is soft and sober, but I can’t help, but revel in the beauty of it all. I’ve found a place to lay in my escapism. The girls around me seem to be made of light. They’re the kind of girls that you can’t decide if you’d rather be or be with. As if they never chose whether to be real or be seen.

Even in the softness of the night, losing the moon, it feels like this is where I should be. And if I stay long enough rather than linger, I may enter the world beyond and encounter more of their light.

If one more person tries to tell me it’s fall, I’ll scream. People say that summer is perpetual, eternal in LA. It’s not completely true. If you’re from here - really from here, you know that weather isn’t completely evasive. It just doesn’t have the same effect that weather anywhere else does. It waits for you to forget it exists, and then it appears. Here, it’s earthquakes and Santa Anas and prayer for rain. Right now, I wish what they said was true. I wish this summer was endless.

It’s hot out, today. Unbearably so. I can’t stand it. So I watch it from the window of my bedroom. The mountains are turning orange, growing more red as the sun sets. The light reflecting back. They used to be purple. But now, the bare surface of them lets the color shift at sunset. The sky behind them is light blue even though it’s 7PM. So beautiful it feels almost cruel. It hasn’t been clear like this in a long time. I swear the smog gets thicker in the summer. It’s hot, but my tan lines are fading away with my freedom. Almost as if my fear is coming true. And summer isn’t as endless as I wish for.

My sister and I are going out. We aren’t going anywhere, just out. We drive around with the windows down and the AC on. It’s a contradiction that only makes sense in LA. There’s something about letting the hot air in that reminds me of summer. I haven’t driven with the windows down since before she left. I picked her up from LAX the other night. I don’t mind the drive anymore. I prefer it. There’s something so beautifully LA about the freeway. About getting lost in the roads, in the traffic, especially at night. Stuck in traffic with your own private prayers surrounded by angels caught in their own. There’s freedom in knowing it’ll take me an hour to get anywhere. Traffic wasn’t bad that night. But I still had time to think. To feel. To remember things that I never thought I would.