There’s something hopeless about my heart. Something resigned, defeated. Like it’s a prison or an inescapable sickness. The dreams coming back to haunt me again as they have in years past. Fantasies that slip through my fingers the moment I wake. Tormenting me again and again until I wake alone…
It’s too cold in my apartment so I trudge outside to the plastic blue chair I’ve angled toward the horizon. I pull my knees up to my chest and stare up at the huge open sky, the masses of clouds unfathomably large and moving at speeds that make me uneasy. The deep red sunset peeks out from behind the mountains like a PC gamer’s tasteful backlight. Just a soft glow that shows the silhouette oh-so-clearly. I can see miles and miles in the distance, those twinkling lights of some town sparkling through the thick darkness of the land, accenting the strange red-orange, grey-clouded sky.
It’s a nice view. And the unreasonable evening heat is actually doing a bit to warm the chill that’s settled deep in my body. Two things I remind myself to enjoy while I still can.
The list keeps growing–things I should enjoy while I can. Flipping through my brother’s travel pictures on the TV with the rest of the family. Going to a spur-of-the-moment matinee with my father. Conversations with my baristas at the cafe. The thrill of my work’s busy season. The smiles, laughter, voices, and presence of my dear friends. Sticking a bunch of toothpicks into a cake with them. The feeling of sprawling across a couch together to watch a movie and when we depart, saying things to each other like see you soon. This big, cloud-mottled sky and the mountains in the distance. The weeds growing in the corner of the yard.
I’ve always struggled to put off the missing things for when they’re actually missing. But this time around I’m trying really hard to remind myself to appreciate all these little details in front of me right now while I still can.