The Walk.

I grab a hat.

Zip up my coat.

Check for my phone & the headphones that I won’t reach for once.

I crave with peaceful anticipation, the cold air when it hits my face on a dark November night.

I secretly wish for the light of a summer’s evening, but then I remember that my hot, tear-stained cheeks need a reprieve from the angry sorrow that fills my room.

I walk.

Step by step.

Quickening my pace, thinking that the faster I go, the easier it will be to chase away my thoughts.

My grief.

My pain.

Keep going.

Five minutes ago, I couldn’t imagine getting up off the floor.

But I did.

I made it out the door.

So keep going.

But the tears keep coming.

The cold breeze in my face eventually begins to bring calm.

I begin to notice my surroundings.

I identify houses by those who I know live there vs. those that I don’t.

It kind of helps to have a mental distraction.

Yet, the overwhelming thoughts and grief creep back in.

Taking me in waves until I deepen my breath

& quicken my step.

My heart is racing and I don’t know whether it is from the walk

or my profound sadness.

It surrounds me even in the night’s open air.

I try to push it away with each step.

Eventually it works.

I push the raw emotions so far away, they almost appear toxic to me

when the visions and tears try to reimerge.

Let it go.

Focus on the walk.

Swallow hard and breathe deep.

Push it all down.

I look at the lights.

Peer through the glowing windows as I pass each house.

“Who lives there?”, I repeatedly ask myself.

“What is their story?”

“Are they sad?”

“Do they feel the invisible pain of grief, loss, failure, and all the emotions that I am feeling?”

“Of course not. I’m the only one. Their life is perfect.”

I know that isn’t true.

No life is perfect.

But I just wish I wasn’t in mine.

It’s too much.

It’s not what I thought.

It’s not.

It’s just not.

I breathe deeper.

Focused on the ground beneath me.

I question how I can keep moving.

Literally and figuratively.

But I do.

And I will.

In the dark, cold night

Or in the bright, harsh light of day.

I will keep moving.

Even if it’s just to push away the pain.