*
Most
things will be okay eventually, but not everything will be. Sometimes
you’ll put up a good fight and lose. Sometimes you’ll hold on really
hard and realize there is no choice but to let go. Acceptance is a
small, quiet room. | Cheryl Strayed
The first day of spring, we went ice skating. Fell on purpose, twice, just so we wouldn't have to fall for real, and skated round the rink hand in hand to Charlie Puth's 'One Call Away'. Stopped at Dairy Queen for cones (they were one out of chocolate dipped waffle cones, so Hana had the dipped and I had the plain, and in the end we threw about half the ice cream away because we couldn't eat anymore).
The bruise's shadow is lingering, close to my wrist, reminding me of how near the worst years still are.
I don't know where I am.
Last night I hit the open road and drove loops along Chester County highways, drawing a loose oval around the place I've called home for the past three years, half hoping to lose my way and still keeping an eye on the falling fuel gauge and praying my oil-deprived engine would hold on till I wound my way back toward four walls and bed. Snowfall glimmered like so many stars; 'One Call Away' came on again and I turned up the radio and sang along, and then I cried. Hard.
This is spring, and winter's hope ebbed in one day to what might as well be the core of the earth—or perhaps it drowned in one too many cups of coffee. I tried to recover it with logic and found the task too much.
I thought I could stay and that my heart wouldn't break.
I was wrong.
So now I'm running again, picking up the pieces of what I let go and packing my suitcase again, severing the roots that had started to grow. They weren't strong enough yet, not for this, but perhaps that's not a bad thing: I hear a little heartbreak is good for the soul, and Lancaster in April is a lovely thing to behold.
