I find it funny- I always feel hungry to write when I know I need to be doing a million other things. Maybe me avoiding my responsibilities is one way among many that I am no different than anyone else. Even so, I have to remind myself that these moments, when all I can do is little else than get lost in my writing, are a blessing. My urges to write are rare enough that if I don’t act on them I miss out on opportunities. So here I am writing, with a million other things to do and a real shortage of time to do them.
But it’s okay because life is fleeting. And although I realize thinking too hard is crippling, sometimes I get thoughts I want to solidify into something physical. Regardless of whether they are good or bad, I need to put them on display before I walk away from them. Maybe it’s so I can revisit them, or maybe it’s because I have a small amount of hope someone will see them and make some sort of connection. Most likely it’s a little bit of both.
It’s another laundry night. This is only notable for the fact that when I find myself in the middle of the laundry-doing process, a sensation that took place over a year ago overwhelms me. It’s only a memory; only a shadow of an event that stays etched into my mind… an event that under usual circumstances would have no real reason to be shared. But somehow, this event still matters enough to me tonight, which is why I am choosing to share it.
It’s late. I am tired, but I am so buzzed on my stubbornness. My exhaustion couldn’t hold a candle to my conviction because in the end, the heart tends to wins. I slide my puffy black boots on, with no one to question me but a weak echo in my head that resembles a sort of hesitation: “Katie, what are you doing?” My cats follow me as I shuffle towards the door. “Shh… I have nothing left to lose…”
I step out the door and I press one foot after the other into the snow. Flurries sweep around my pink face and land on my nose, leaving it raw. The air is bitter and fresh. The snowflakes are tiny, but their majestic number is dispersed so widely that when they twirl around, they break up the dark sky behind them. The tall buildings frame the world, and the lights between them and inside them highlight the speckled air. I’m bundled up so tight that I’ve swapped feeling cold for feeling anything at all. Because of this, my gloves create a barrier that keep me rechecking on the sealed envelope crunched between my thick fingers. This letter will not be returned to the sender- this letter has no sender.
How is it so quiet outside? As I walk, my eyes fill with a wetness that glistens and grows until my tear ducts can no longer hold the weight. Small wet drops become warm salty streams that glide down my face, welcomed by all too familiar pathways. The light air around me contrasts the heaviness of every aspect of my body… but it’s okay, I am grateful for this. This space seems to give me permission to go as slowly as I need to, as the blue postal mailbox grows bigger in my peripheral view. I need this contradiction: I need to feel hopeless while still holding on to hope, I need to be alone to feel connected, I need the quiet to know the storm that’s brewing inside me, and most importantly of all, I need one last real embrace to own this final goodbye.
I drop the envelope in the big blue box and it’s over. It’s a relief because it doesn’t make a difference now. I turn around and slowly, never more alone…never more alive, I make my way back up the path from which I started. Soon enough I see the warm glow of the light framed in the glass doorway of my apartment building.
Sometimes there is no moral to the story. At the very least, there could be a moral but there is value in knowing there doesn’t have to be. In this case, the why and the how are not as important to me anymore as they would have been a year ago. Now, the only thing that matters is that this simply happened, and while it feels sad, it also feels raw and beautiful. It’s hard to talk about being vulnerable, but I know that people feel it all the time, and in many ways it is something that is loved regardless of how scary it seems.
thesearchwithinme 