Two floors up, the light filters through the window screen in patches; surprisingly perfect rectangles of brighter tan crisscross the table.
I came up here seeking isolation, thus perpetuating a habit of expected necessity. The spring in my step is often fresh and my clothes clean and my ears vigilant, but my insides are slightly messier. Sometimes, most times, I need these moments of almost-quiet, my phone on silent, and the cursor blinking to rearrange organs, and stitch up scratches. Tuck flyaway pieces of intestine into orderly circles.
No one ever said it was pretty.
Some days are life lessons. My idealistic self wants to say that all days are life lessons, but that is a lie. Some days are lessons in pulling yourself together when you’re not so together because doubt has crept into the spaces between the decisions you have stacked side by side, guided by pure instinct, instinct acted on by pure guts, their impending result dictated only by the passage of each day, also known as the future.
My problem, lately, has been finding that balance between logicality and rawness. They are mutually exclusive concepts, as one demands careful brain function and the other requires the knowledgeable undertaking of the risk of smashing your brain in.
Raw logic, then, usually finds me in rare moments of clarity. They are fleeting fragments of time so completely elusive, so unexpected that they refuse to be held. It’s the synchronization of various complicated parts, soul and mind together, interlocking motives to churn the wheel forward.
My timely arrival.
The frigid air, no wind.
Maps.
The privilege and sought after opportunity to sit in a classroom and learn shit.
That friend I made.
This hand on my back, guiding my steps. My God, I have never believed in God, not fully, but there’s something bigger out there.
And these patches of light. A sunny day, my one desire fulfilled. The light hits my eyes, yellow fragments obscure my vision.
Today’s Lesson: Faith.
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