Mov(ing) Along

And out of nowhere, a slow sad melody plays on low, the tears well up uncontrollably and melt down her sleepy cheeks. It's 0530 in the morning and the sun hasnt even gotten out of bed yet. Driving down the dark familiar path, caffeine beginning to pulse through her veins. 

She is not in the dark though, not the time at least. She feels the sorrow, she sits in the yuck, she lets the flood fill her eyelids. In the same way a deep tissue massage hurts so good, this does too. Why is she addicted to the intensity? The good, the bad, the highs, the lows. To feel feels good. She is alive in these moments. Right or wrong, she craves them to a fault. Even this micro storm, when it passes, makes her stronger. Even just a little. Everything is going to be ok, everything is always working out for her. 

The short seven minute commute comes to a close. Somehow the volume had turned to level ten too - the whole block could sing along. Turning the corner to the familiar green neon lights, a second home. To lift, to shift, to move through it all. The salty droplets are now those of sweat. No one could even guess they were not moments ago. The heat in her body spreads from her heart to the surface. A semblance still of the fading summer tan, pretty like the sun. 

Flushing out the seemingly random (or not yet willing to admit otherwise) sadness. Forcefully forward, nostalgic angsty twenty year old tunes bumping through the earbuds. Two short hours later, she’s lived two years. Today is a new day, and it's going to be a good one.