Wet Suit
She didn’t know what to say. There were really no words, at least none came to mind in the moment.
Her soul was torn, bleeding. Disappointment washed over her like a huge unexpected wave destroying an otherwise sunny day.
Sure there were a few clouds in the sky. There would always be clouds, but this, this was all wrong. She didn’t sign up for this moment. It was crushing and she desperately wanted to find a way out. At least that’s what she told herself.
She cried, she screamed, she blamed and kicked and questioned. Then she was still. In the quiet whisper of her own self pity she found the answer.
It’s not about you.
Stop looking for your reflection. Lift your head past the wave, the ocean, the horizon even. This isn’t just your feet in the sand of this one beach. It has nothing to do with how you imagined the sunset. It’s bigger, harder, and you can sit there on your ass, or you can move before the next wave arrives.
She stood up, wobbled for balance, turned her back to the wave and walked to shore.
That’s all from the laundry room. Take Something to Sleep.
acceptance life reality words writing coping Fiction life thoughts women Writing
And it’s so hard when it’s not about you but you care to–fill in the blank–live a parallel life from a safe distance, acknowledge hurt and feelings of failure, pick yourself up and move on with no guarantees. I’m betting you moved your ass. And I think that’s a good thing . ..
I have always been told it’s best to move your ass, so…yes, I have. Doesn’t make it any easier though. Thanks for your comment, Kay.