This world has temporarily robbed me of grieving. Of feeling. Of sadness. Of love. Of laughter. Of togetherness.
I miss you. I miss us. I miss we.
Have you heard? How could you not?
But suddenly what I post matters more than who I am, or what I’m going through. What I feel?
My reaction to racist, inhumane, publicized trauma is instead scrutinized and held under a glass scope.
Though I face racial struggles each day, I am expected to immediately rise up stronger than my adversary and give my version of the same speech. But I’m too tired, I’d rather sleep.
I say something. Nothing. Everything.
The right thing, the wrong time.
Say it now, no wait–tomorrow.
Be more sensitive. Be more aggressive.
Join us. No us.
Does she even care she’s so…silent now?
Yes, and I’ll probably be the one to break the latest Instagram thread, every time.
You see I got caught up in the web of expectations, just not ones I had for myself.
So I posted, or I didn’t.
You liked it, or you didn’t.
I agreed, or I didn’t.
But It’s always, Pics or it didn’t happen—right?
That’s what social media will tell you.
My phone locks and contrary to popular belief, the world continues to turn.
Don’t get me wrong, there is work to be done there too.
So I move, and force myself into productivity.
After 3 naps, 2 snacks, breakfast served at a quarter to noon, and another nap…my day finally begins.
I do just about anything to occupy the time.
But I’m also stuck. In the same place as yesterday and then again tomorrow.
Every day a photocopy of the one before.
So then it’s 2 am and somehow my mind escapes to loneliness.
Now there are tears, and they don’t fall but they well up–all heavy and dense.
There’s never enough to cry.
But it’s kind of beautiful. That stillness. With nothing going on at 2 am. The world around me a soft buzz.
My fan whirls and the cool air brushes my cheek as I’m laying there, soaking in soft noise.
I hear music from next door, faded and low.
And the already slow-spinning room spun more slowly.
It is muted tones and shades of grey.
Repetition and unfulfilled thought.
It is lonely.
It is don’t do and please do more.
It is the rush of opinion so loud my mind starts to fail me and I feel lost in it all.
So I shut it off.
Now I’m feeling color.
If I look beyond the horizon I see the earth as it bends.
I feel the waves yawn as the morning begins.
The sun sets and I listen as the rays fall over my skin.
I smell the moon as it rises, she is loyalty.
Because the night always returns.
Speak to me—
The words left the ground and sent a chill through my room.
I felt love, no I tasted it. Sweet. Smooth.
These moments are timeless, and yet I’m aging still.
The tears returned once more, but again they never fell.
Remember being younger and thinking about forever.
The bucket lists that held:
2. We ever
4. To do
It was Beauty, it was youth, it was bliss, it was—
It was a skate scene. One where the main characters were people I knew. A kind of Saturday you wish you could extend on into forever.
A moment you want to record and replay each day before the sun rises.
But you don’t record, because that’s the whole point.
It was a gathering of love. The kind where no one actually says “I love you.” No one even so much as extends a hug or a kiss to welcome in company. Because this kind of love needs no physical marker to claim validity.
This love is unconditional. So I watched as my cousins and brother skated up and down the street, because I loved them.
It was home. There was no door. No place for my shoes, and no room where I could drift off into sleep. This home was all-encompassing. Now mobile, because I intend to take it with me everywhere I go.
This home is family.
You see, these slow moments, these lonely moments, and these at-home memories are some of the most beautiful in this world. One day I will look back on these days and wish for a moment just like them.
A moment where I can sit in my room, free of distraction, and become so in tune with myself, it’s as if no one exists around me.
A moment like a night in with family, where no one is in a rush to leave, the night feels never-ending, and the laughter only grows.
A moment where a year passes in a single day and even the sun is unhappy to leave.
Though some nights I’m still low, often too far from release, I’ve begun to embrace these feelings instead.
I’m learning to love every part of this film
–even the scenes where I sit alone.
A single tear now hangs on my cheek. Hugs me, as it falls to my chin.
There it is
It’s what I’ve been waiting for.