I have discovered that if I walk far enough into the woods
I will lose all traces of the city. Will become a natural naturalist; will know how to do things I did not know I knew how to do.
It is not the first time that Kate has asked me to go
but this is the first time I have accepted. Oh I had forgotten what the woods feel like. What birds sound like, how it feels to have leaves crunching underfoot, what fresh scratches from a thorn bush feel like down the side of my leg. So good.
I am so in love with these trees, this green, green ocean circling over my head. I should have gone a hundred times over, should have not put this off. Hiking and mapping and building. Starting fires? Of course I am.
, a little crazy around the edges but that's alright with me. Wants to lead me in any direction that I will follow. More in love with me than I could hope for. And here I am blowing it, as always. Push and push
until she is far enough away so that I am safe. Distance makes for better pining anyway.
Oh but who am I to lead you into thinking that this does not hurt? Into believing that I am okay with this, that I am better off without? Into thinking that I am strong enough to handle my own heart
? Should have lifted more weights, should have built up my biceps; such a heavy heart
. Who am I to tell you I can move it on my own?
Ryan, like all great romantics, has convinced me that I am much more in love with him than he is with me. That I need him. He is a man much more suited for the roles of the great Hollywood, the Clark Gables
or Jimmy Stewarts
I would love to convince him that this is his calling
, acting. Because he is so good at acting in love. I would give him his own oscar
if only I could fill the mold.
I had the chance to take a semester or two to study in Paris
but am choosing Elliott instead. Oh the beauty of this boy; how can I resist?
Here he is all grown up, so trim and proper. When I think of the future here is what see: plans and rice and babies and forever. What I do not see is being left lonely and bleeding
in Idaho. What I do not plan is stuffing the tattered remains of a heart so large in matching luggage and moving myself completely across the country in order to escape him.
Oh truth be told they are all long gone. Both the people and the chances. Past as if it is the present.
As if I could be foolish enough to rewrite it; Change it
, for the better, or worse. As if I could paint myself bold or brave, a risk-taker, a move-maker.
But I cannot go back, cannot remake choices, cannot write away what has happened or make it any different. Cannot write away those I have left or this new shortness of breath.
As if it did not happen exactly the way it should have the first time.