That Emeli Sande Song I Love So Much

I told myself that if I was going to continue sealing envelopes, I better start sending them. I had this Password Protected blog post up for awhile. It was/is meant for one person, and I sent it before starting my Saturday night a few weeks back.

It’s probably my best piece of writing. Regardless of how much my soul was shaking in the moments that I was writing it, I wanted to protect the subject, they became my favourite song. But I became a different version of myself that wanted to stray away from my own emotions. That post became the last thing I wrote.

It hit me that I was already in my 4th year, and I chose to sit in a familiar classroom on the right side, glancing to the left once in awhile to get a certain kind of view. When I sat there I thought about how the “they once were just a glance upon the room” idea became what I’m probably going to remember most about University.

This woman walked through the pouring rain, holding an umbrella covered in sunflowers. I found that notion quite ironic. I walked through the rain, umbrella-less, letting my hair uncurl and I thought about what someone had said to me earlier, the sentence was echoing over the sound of the rain hitting the pavement. “Are you gonna blog about it?” Because it was a pun to them, a harmless one of course, but it reminded me that for awhile I hadn’t been writing. I would write everything, and anything, and I stopped.

Believe me, I tried. I played with the tangled lights on my headboard hoping some sort of prose would come out, but I refused to turn them on. I hoped dying my hair dark brown, would metaphorically water whatever growth I was trying to achieve, but nothing. Something else I also picked up on, was how individuals give you attention when they’re not receiving it on their end, the same individuals who refuse to pay attention to the bright red Exit sign flashing right in front of them. Hm.

I learned about forgiveness behind a glass of Rose. Right now I’m stumped in front of the keyboard trying to figure out a statement that would follow that, because everytime I wave a white flag, someone sets fire to it. I chose to forgive someone because they picked up the phone and made the effort. We even discussed these posts, and I explained to them how important it is to me, to keep things private. I thought that would make me write again. It didn’t.

But alas, lucky number November 13. Brought me back in front of the black keys. All because a coffee mug reminded me of somebody, and I found it in a room full of lights hanging from the ceiling. I let that wave of emotion take me with it, despite the fact that their silence
became their way of saying, “You’re not for me right now.” and boy does that ache, but in two different ways; the aching that comes with longing for that person’s return, and the ache that comes with the question behind why they left in the first place.

Just take this as me taking the jump, holding onto a sunflower covered umbrella hoping it will ease whatever comes with the fall.



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