October 1

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I look down while I walk — listening carefully to my shoes clacking against the grey asphalt floor, burying my head to the scarf. I contemplate over the wounded thoughts, questions, and nostalgias. I am immersed and away from the surrounding noises. There really isn’t anything I should be complaining about. But there are small emotions inside me that I haven’t reconciled with, feelings of melancholy and disappointments that trigger me to feel weak. I notice the sun feels more poised than usual, like it is trying to get my attention to look up. So I look up and squint my eyes to try resisting from the brightness shining down upon me. The shadows keep hanging low behind my clacking shoes. The light. I am seen. I feel parts of my wrapped up feelings losing to resist, getting exposed by the warmth of the sun.

October 1. It’s taken a while to get to this point of the year. Doubts, uncertainties, and failures behind, two months seem too short of a time to bring a period to an unfinished paragraph. I unlock the door and let myself into the apartment. I take a deep breath as I lean myself against the closed door. I take off my tired shoes and walk over to the couch chair. I sit sideways, putting my arms around my knees. The sun is still looking down on me through the wooden windows of the living room. I reach out my hand to touch it. I turn my hand slowly as my fingers twirl in the sunshine.

It is not easy to feel enough or to forgive yourself. It is difficult to give yourself grace. Though on October 1, I try. In the stretch of time, I pull a string of golden ribbon from the sun and wrap it around my unspoken irresolutions.

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