Icy Patches

It's the stupid, small details that will get you in the end. It is the fact that something actually happened two days earlier, and somehow that changes everything. It's the fact that he took her with him on that trip. You just don't get to know these thing anymore. You're not in the loop. 

That's the problem with the small details. They pop up in Twitter feeds and fall out of people's mouths when they aren't looking. But they are so seemingly insignificant that no one else seems to understand when you need to take three deep breaths or walk away. Because suddenly your chest has got a little too tight. There's an ache in your stomach that would need a knife to justify it. And no one understands why those few days make any difference. Maybe you would have acted differently if you had know then. But you didn't know, whether your dates are right or slightly off. You acted the way you did with the information you had at the time and it has past. There is nothing you can do to change it.

It doesn't matter if he took her on that trip too. He could take her or he could not take her and that doesn't change anything. You could know about it or not and that still doesn't change anything. They feel the way they feel and you feel the way you feel and sooner or later you will let the dust settle. It still hurts and you can still feel the black scribbles just below your breast bone. But they will gone by the morning.

You just need to keep reminding yourself one thing: you are moving forward. Sure, details like these are icy patches on the ground; you didn't see them coming and you slipped. Sometimes you catch yourself before you go down and sometimes you don't. Sometimes there's someone there and sometimes there's not. But you are still moving forward. That icy patch and all the others are there but they aren't going to stop you. Maybe they take your breath for a few seconds or maybe they knock you down for a day. But you are going to keep going. And the icy patches will get less. One day there might not be any. But it doesn't matter if they are gone in five months or two years. They aren't going to stop you.  

Real Life

I complain to you that things in real life never happen like they do in films. No one is waiting for me in the pouring rain or throwing pebbles at my window. When we fight, we don't stand and scream with just the right amount of tears. You tell me it's okay. You tell me that sometimes they do. You tell me that even when everything is far too real, it doesn't have to be bad.

A few days later we are sitting on the sofa together. We are talking and laughing about nothing in particular. You have got your feet planted firmly on the ground, and my legs are crossed.

“Put your arms up.” I tell you, and you oblige. You look quizzical, but raise your arms anyway, an aeroplane.

I lean over and wrap my arms around your middle, and yours fall into place around me. I hold tight, not wanting to let go.

“See?” you say, triumphantly, “Sometimes things do happen like they do in films.” 

Rain

The rain was beating down hard. The sky was as dark as it was going to get; the only light coming from streetlights and headlights. She paused in a near by bus stop for a little shelter, pulling out her phone for directions. She was already late, and this wasn't helping. She was lost, and the rain and darkness weren't helping. 

She moved back out into the rain, more confident. The green man lit up and she crossed the street, trying to keep her balance. She was glad to make it to the other side of the pavement; feeling a little steadier on her feet. Water was everywhere, above and beneath her. She hadn't understood people who said that they could feel the cold in their bones, but now she did. She was soaked to the skin and fed up. She wasn't sure how much further it was, but it couldn't be that long.

As she debated trying to get a taxi, lights flashed suddenly in her eyes. She could see the headlights of the cars from the corner of her eye, but this light was coming straight at her. She looked up, trying to understand what was happening. She had thought for too long, not moving. Suddenly she felt a tremendous weight hitting her. She was confused and shaking. Her eyelids felt heavier than she could ever remember them feeling and she let them close. There was a lot of noise around her, shouts and screams. People were coming near her, but all she could focus on was sirens. She was still unsure of what was happening. But there were sirens; there was a chance things would be okay. Help was coming.