I wrote the piece below days before I relocated to Seattle. It was my fifth move in just about as many years. Some of my moves have been willing, and some have not. Regardless, I’ve weirdly fallen for that breathless feeling of the unknown. It’s cleansing to start over, reinvent yourself, be better than before.
The first was June.
Hot. Bare thighs squelching against old leather.
I cried when I picked up the U-Haul.
Rushed in the house, I learned what it was to hate someone.
I drove away smiling.
The second was May.
Mild. Early summer gloom held the morning.
friends people only love you
when your misery matches their own.
I refused to be a shell forever.
The third was November.
Windy. Leaves painted the driveway in crimson.
A man asked me –
“None of this means anything without you.”
I went because I love him.
The fourth was January.
Cold. The trees as bleak as we felt.
We went for me, but we went together.
300 days of sunshine.
I learned that home is a heartbeat.
The fifth was September.
Snow. Even the weather frowned on us.
It’s practically a habit but I only want to do it with you.
They say it’s dark here, depression assured.
I’m going to disagree.