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Freedom
The wind is coming up.
The air smells of freshly cut grass and freedom, but there is a pressure — the grey sky feels too close and I feel trapped.
Normally, these are my favorite days. The early summer storms that bring relief from the humidity, thunder storms that rock the windows and echo off the mountains, lightning in shocks of purple or green, cooling rains rhythmically drum against the roof as I fall sleep. Tonight, though, the weather that I know is coming and cannot stop feels like when the words trickled from your mouth: “I love her.” Those words, and I knew I couldn’t stop you, that there would be no shelter from the undoing of the life I loved.
Everyone has been so proud of me for not falling apart and I can’t tell if I should be flattered or offended by their praise. Is it because you thought I couldn’t survive alone? Or is it that I’m so good at ignoring the pit in my stomach that you can take comfort in the fact that I’m not gonna cry at work today?
Probably, it’s both.
Likely, I’m being cynical and bitter and they literally mean that I’m holding up better than others might in the same situation.
But as much space as I’m taking to highlight the amazing people in my life, as much effort as I’m putting in to taking care of myself, as well as I’m doing, there are still days like today, where…
