Snapshot: Leaning out of the window and asking how she was. Her face lit up, her sparkling eyes. “He told me he loved me!” Handing her her coffee and smiling the rest of the day.
Snapshot: You telling me how hard it’s been, years before. Then learning you’d died. The circumstances did not surprise me. Rather, it’s how much you come back to me these days, popping into my head for no reason. Feeling deep sadness, one I can’t explain.
Snapshot: The crash to the concrete, the way I limped home. Now, the way the jeans rub against scabs that are still healing, having to be gentle, but wanting to go back out for a run. Test the wings, test myself. Learning to trust my feet again.
Snapshot: Licking ice cream cones in the parking lot, windows rolled down, talking about the things we haven’t said and the things that have been important to us. The air smelled like sunshine.
Snapshot: Underlining text with a pencil, wondering how to apply it, how to keep opening myself to learning while also remembering what has come before. The struggle between storytelling and the righting reflex, wanting and needing to find a balance.