Women of Word
I get hurt a little too loudly and scream a little too quietly
Sometimes – (Randoms)
Sometimes, dontcha just miss the old days? Why so much emphasis on moving on, tackling the new?
Sometimes, don’t you just miss ice cream trucks strolling through summer days, warm breeze, age 7? Don’t you miss summer-filled basement movie nights, without any planning? Just doing, going, seeing where the day takes us aka having fun, sleeping then not caring what tomorrow brings – be it more shows, movies, games, running, sprinting, chilling? That’s youth. Don’t you miss it?
I said sometimes, though. Sometimes, the whole next phase in life thing, adulting thing – seriously what on Earth even is “adulting” – is kinda important. So, sometimes I just miss ice cream trucks strolling through summer days, warm breeze, age 7.
Her Spirit’s a Free Bird
Don’t know why, but it’s Feb 10, and it finally, finally feels like she can go back. Like she can be in a dream again. Like she can see the imprints of stars in the sky again; like she wants to breathe in the rain again. Airy rain. Dirt rain. Delicate, dense rain. Like, like, like, like… again home belongs in her heart.
Her home is plaited with others’ needs, with the wants of simplicity; simpler times. And, her gift is her heart to you. Because, innocence is all she clings to and, honestly, it’s all she understands. Complexity complicates her mind.
She sees the dirt. She feels, oh, she feels the dirt in her hands again. She’s drowning light in the moment again. Every sensory delight arriving – finally arriving.
P.S. Please don’t step on her gift again; please don’t cage her again.
Because, P.S. Her spirit’s a free bird again.
Ok.. .
I’m ok, I wrote on page 29 of this book… I’m ok and “courage doesn’t roar” and it “whispers” for “tomorrow” (says Audrey), and, but I’m ok. I don’t need announcements this second because, in this second, I’m ok. And, every second counts, right?
Closed Doors and Closure
I hadn’t seen this door for almost eleven years, but within the span of these two months, I had already seen it twice. Standing in front of it again now, I remembered that two months earlier, in this very location but six floors down and on the main level, the words, “just put one foot in front of the other” were trailing across my mind.
“Are you sure you want to do this?”
I continued concentrating one foot in front of the other.
“Yes.”
It was time. I needed what everyone insists is called “closure.” Whether “closure” existed or not, I needed my 34-degree cosmopolitan city in the East to begin feeling like my 34-degree cosmopolitan city in the East again. So, here I was.
I came here earlier that day too, but I couldn’t go up. Instead, at two in the afternoon, I lingered on the main level of this brick-walled apartment building, which I still knew well.
The main level is an open space, lined with columns on each side. Accompanying these columns that lead up to the elevator are those circular, marble tables and chairs where my cousins and I would hide, bothering the men who played Carrom there.
I ambled past each column and table, down the middle of the main level. I was trying hard to make a quiet statement. I was trying hard to say, “stop me if you can; ban me from your grounds if you can.”
With each step, it felt like the breeze that snuck through these pillars also whispered the past into my ears. In the breeze, I heard my three-wheeled bicycle clicking as it paddled through these open spaces. In the breeze, I heard her tell me not to fight with my cousin, who was one year older than me and so, so annoying, even if he did teach me the coolest handshake I will ever know. In the breeze, I heard her telling me not to go too far behind the steps beside the elevator, also known as the “secret” hideout. I’m embarrassed to say my cousins and I were not more creative than that.
Coming back from the past and arriving at the elevator at 2:02 pm, I pressed the button going up at 2:03 pm. And at 2:04 pm, I turned around, walked across the block, and asked the cab driver parked there to take me back to Woodlands Drive 16.
At 10:30 that night, my feet finally made their way into that elevator. This time, my cousin was by my side, looking at me anxiously.
“I’m fine,” I promised as I got out of the elevator and asked her to wait for me downstairs.
Adjacent to the elevator, on this 6th-floor, stood this door. I walked towards this door, shut at that time, and faced it. Should I ring the bell?
I didn’t; I should have.
And now, I’m standing here again. The door is open this time. But, on the other side of its threshold, a tragedy is welcoming me instead of the familial warmth that should have never left my valence. Feeling like the harbinger of all expiration dates, I cross this door’s unpropitious threshold.
“Closure,” it exists, but it didn’t bring me back my 34-degree cosmopolitan city in the East; it promised me that my 34-degree cosmopolitan city in the East would never breathe again.
Excerpts (I had difficulty spelling excerpts)
He turns away, and I instantly regret questioning the depth of his stare. A surge of passion overwhelms me. Cut it out, that’s not you. It’s as if my arms aren’t registering my brain, and I see them travel away from my body. They reach for his collar. Gently turning his soft golden curls in my direction, I let my fingers slide up to his face. He turns towards me as I let my eyes sink into his. He leans in, and his gaze settles upon me. Where it must be, where it always should be.
Just so you know, secretly, I would. I’d be the first to.
His dimples intensified, crumbling all the strength I held within.
But just so you know, I’d also do so for almost anyone. So, honestly, don’t get too flattered.
Well, just glad to be anyone for you.
Um, ok…
Clearly, he was the cheese, and I was the wine.
But, those dimples. Those dimples remained in my presence for the rest of the night. The way they must. The way they always should.
A Drift
My mind drifted to that single moment that sparked my seemingly eternal but naive hope.
“You know what’s weird?”
“What?”
Even when I do something embarrassing in front of you and want to hide from you, your arms are still the only security blanket I feel safe to hide in.
“Hey, snap out? What’s weird?”
“Nothing, the day they invent mind readers, you can figure it out.”
“Not cool, that’ll be forever long.”
“Who says we don’t have forever long?”
(I can’t help my thoughts from gravitating towards your pull. I’m irrational in this manner; whimsical in this manner) I couldn’t help my thoughts from gravitating towards your pull. I was irrational in this manner; whimsical in this manner. (If you find me, great; if you keep me, better) If you found me, great; if you kept me, better. (But, if you don’t the seasons will still change) But, you didn’t and the seasons are still changing, the moon still rotating, the plants still breathing, people still talking, thinking, laughing, crying. (Still, you’re always going to be a lingering chapter, I don’t doubt that thought will cease) And now, you’re not a lingering chapter, and heavens am I glad that I have no doubts these thoughts have ceased.
Edited Today.
Just Typing 