Driveway Moment

I sat in my car today, with the rain softly falling. And for no reason, I started talking to you. As if you were there. At first, it honestly kind of hurt. A part of me knew that you weren't there, and at the same time - I wanted you to be with me so badly I didn't care. So I kept talking.

I talked about basically two things. First, what exactly is my plan? Second. Why am I not with you. The rain began to fall, bit by bit. I felt so strange, so completely depressed. But , for some reason - I also felt -for a moment -that I could feel again. I felt everything. I felt the sadness began to grow, and wash over me like a wave at the beach. And the next words that I said, alone - began to carry a sort of invisible weight. I talked about problems that I could not solve. About things that I need to do. About life.

You mean everything to me. You are so much a part of me. A part of me wanted to simply pretend that you didn't exist and then the other part idealized you beyond all recognition. I realized that I am here. And you are there. And that you are probably better - more interesting, more beautiful than I had made you to be. I wondered about that. And also a veil of mystery. I wondered alound about my imperfection. I laughed at myself. Perhaps for a brief moment I felt sorry for myself. I began to wonder, if anyone could understand me as I spoke. I said things slowly. Clearly. No one overheard me. The rain hit the inside of my open door.

It was catharsis. I didn't cry. But I felt so many things wash over me. It felt a little like getting up out of the broken glass. It dawned on me that at least a part of me can't or won't feel things anymore. A part that seemed long gone. Except today. Except you. For the first time, I think, in maybe two or three years. No. More. Maybe ten. I know it was ten, because that was the last time we spoke. And when you hung up I knew we wouldn't talk again for ten years.

I actually felt real and complete sadness. I also felt alive. I felt what it would be like for you to be near. But so much of what I said, so much of what I was feeling - welled up around me and drowned out the words. They were spoken. I think, meaningful. Simple. Spoken slowly and with great care. Each held hidden questions for me. I can't remember exactly what I said. It doesn't really matter.

I picked up my things from the car and walked inside. I felt. Different. It's almost as if, instead of just talking to yourself ... I actually made myself sit down and listen. And then, I actually listened.