My blueberry nights

And this year, I won’t fear spring as I usually do. It’s quite an irrational fear, coming with an image of people crammed in one room. It’s only during winter when I believe that the outside is mine alone, even if it means to freeze until my skin starts to crack.

Today is very mild, and for a moment, I thought I could smell spring already. Last year I would have been scared, but I no longer am. I felt a tender touch in my hair and a warm pat on my shoulders. Certain feelings have been fluctuating between loss and freedom, but eventually, a smile arose from the finish line, I’ve run a bit too far, and I’d forgotten to stop and look. The marathon has finished.

Smile back.

Saddest of all, I’d forgotten about myself, and I’ve almost committed to a place that was never meant for me to settle in, this unbalanced place of glass and brick houses. Learning and experiencing errors that can never be fixed is to be kept in a box. With every mistake and truth that I commit, I feel I am approaching the core of my real self. A particular strength is in progress, but I can’t yet share it with anyone. I still believe I need to trust my instincts more and add more value to my conscience because I know it. And just be me again. I will stop watching dreamers skid off the road that would give my dreams a whiplash.

You need certainty. You can’t put anything on hold anymore. You may have made up your mind, but everything still needs time. All you can do is test your patience and continue sulking in silence.

Eventually, it will be worth the wait, and you will look forward to eradicating this cabin fever. I want to breathe and finally live my art. For the sake of money and its stability, I have agreed to suffocate in return. This is not it. This is not it.

The same story applies to being alone. You’d rather be alone than owing a person what you can’t give back. I rejected a heart. Bitterly. There was so much dedication that I couldn’t handle.

I’ve never taken anyone for granted, not without giving back what I’ve received. If I know I can’t return the favour; I will not take it in the first place. Being strong in this matter, I must admit that I have allowed others too much access.

I want to blame the concept of fighting for what you can’t have, the conviction that you can start a fire without needing matches or stones–It’s exciting, right? It’s like you know magic. Even if the attempt ends up in vain, you know you’ve tried. Most often, you realise it too late. But some people would lay their bare hearts on the plate for you, and you end up staring at it like it means nothing.

I am guilty of this.

I love listening to people’s real stories, and selfishly enough, I like seeing myself reflected in them. I look at their happy faces while their voices are unable to hide their sorrow. But the honesty in their eyes will always unfold the truth of which I am part. It’s time to listen more. And if I don’t understand, I will not impose judgement. But if I do, I will give comfort.

Elizabeth travelled from town to town to forget, but it wasn’t specifically escapism with no cause. She travelled to listen to people’s stories. After all, she returned to New York because she knew someone was waiting for her with a blueberry pie.

And Fai knew that his partner would never join him on his trip to the Iguazu Falls, so he travelled alone. Alone he washed away his sorrow with orangey-brown water.

It’s my turn.

I’ve made up my mind. I’ve given myself a second chance.

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