I think I have forgotten that green leaves in spring exist. Or is it like knowing you have 10 fingers and 10 toes—an established fact that you keep somewhere in your subconscious? It’s only when you injure a part of your body that you realise how much use you got out of it. It’s only when you have a cold that you remember how great it is not to have a cold. It’s only when there is a gap in the clouds that you remember the blue sky always exists. It’s only when you are having a grey time that the things you once loved really sparkle.
I have exposed myself to people who are really just strangers. Spilled the beans. Shared my shit. I am chilly from it all. I want to be pickier about whom I talk to, and not just choose anyone who will listen. Now the trees are truly bare, I am fully prepared to hibernate and store my food (for the soul) like an animal. It’s instinct.
I instinctively play the same songs over and over again. It must be a coping mechanism. I go on YouTube and watch nostalgic pop song after nostalgic pop song, the related videos feeling as warm and comfortable to me as a blanket. I had to listen to the same Taylor Swift song three times to fill my walk to college one day this week.
On the way home two of my friends sang and hummed the song with me. It’s small moments like this, and friends like these, that I realise I need to be grateful for. Something innocently shared instead of stored away, and people to grab hold of and walk in the cold with.
When I said goodbye to my friends and was alone with my thoughts, I chastised myself for not having worn warmer clothes. It’s like I have been living in a self-imposed haze and expecting the world to haze around me. But I see it is crisp now, and it is time for layers and scarves and gloves. The cold has caught up with me, and I am remembering how to feel warm again. ♦