I’ll start with a refresher. My summer has been packed with things. So many things. I have never done so much. I’ve never felt so much. I’ve been so lucky to develop real, solid friendships this year. With people who I feel know me. With people I am constantly wanting to get to know better. Movie nights and game nights and BBQs and picnics, dinner parties, long walks, days at the park, nights with live music, new drinks, new recipes, so much fun. It’s an introverts nightmare but I’m learning to find the balance. You can’t use who you are as an excuse not to be who you want to be.
Last night we took a walk looking for answers.
I wore a sweater and clutched it around my side. I wished it was raining so it would smell like the sky and the trees and the grass. When it’s summer I reach out. My arms grasping the sky to bring the sun closer. To hold it tighter. I lay out on rocks like a lizard and dry my bones of all the sadness of winter, only to wish it back so desperately a month later.
He had talked to me, so I talked to him. Things I keep locked away somewhere. A recycling of the same worries over and over again. Money, family, school, work, friends. Money, family, school, work, friends. Money, family, school, work, friends. I said I wished I didn’t like myself so much because, lately, that had just become an excuse. I said I wished I didn’t find such beauty in all the little things because that just kept me idle. Stopping to smell the flowers, laying barefoot in the grass, sipping coffee cup by cup until the machine made that crackling sound like it wanted to brew more but simply couldn’t.
We sat on a park bench and I cried because I’d held it all in. The regret of not feeling good enough, but feeling good enough being that way. What a trapping feeling. A girl across the park was crying too. She was wheezing and crying. She was nearly screaming. I pressed my face into his chest and asked if they were breaking up and he said no. So we listened to her cry while I cried and the bench rocked back in forth in my mind like some temporary oasis. Whatever we say here stays here, and we can go home without it. That other girl must have felt the same way.
Can you have sadness in paradise? Can you have tears that hide in dimples? We held hands and walked back past the arcade, with the flashing lights, the sound of pinball breaking through the concrete walls. A woman sat on the curb and smoked. A man crossed the street with his receipt, staring at the twisting white paper curiously as he went. A group of friends stood outside a restaurant as the night ended. And we went home.