The winter breeze was unabashedly harsh as it brushed past my skin. I was cold in my tank top, but I let the window stay open. I needed it to help my baffled body understand the pain the brain was feeling.
It was an ordinary Sunday and I was basking in solitude, letting the din of this cluttered mind get as loud as it wanted. There were haunting thoughts of what I will have to face and dread for the day I am no longer able to seal off the darkness. I thought of the faces I would see--- faces from whom after twenty-five years of closeness my tears will need to hide and will forever need to hide.
I played the video from a year ago in my mind. He stood up after a few beers and sang an old love song. His wife laughed, slightly embarrassed, remembering that he used to serenade her with the same song. He smiled when he was finished, with the same crinkle in his faces as my own father. I had always regarded him as my own.
It was unbearable that this video would be my last memory, that such a vibrancy will forever be committed to dust. Dust. Particles that sometimes get stuck in your nose and induce a sneeze. Dust. That will be all that remains after all was said and done. We will probably have a meal afterward. Then we will probably all go home. Life will have to go on. Dishes will be washed, laces will be tied, and we will all eventually sleep soundly again---even if against our will.
In the background, playing eternally will be a slow, deliberate song. I will hear it---I already do. I try not to dwell and I try not to let my own melancholy contaminate the innocence around me. But when I stare off into space, I hear that song clearly---every chord, every beat. And yet, I have trouble verbalizing my thoughts to any sort of written medium. Any professing of love or regret would be amateurish and unworthy. There were no words.
Besides, I had already blocked the feelings from pouring out in full to prepare for the day I will look into the eyes of those who had much more at stake. I already know the strength with which I will hold back my meager tears. I know that a moment of weakness will spell an irrepressible release of undue hysteria. I must stay strong.
Sometimes I try and pretend it didn't happen. The miles are helpful in that way. But that sad song always finds me.
The chilly breeze may not be enough. I may have to go for a run. The winter air chokes in my lungs and makes it difficult to breathe. That should help.
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