Seasons Change, But The Memories Remain

The sunlight is medicine on my skin after a cold, colorless winter. March is bleak. Grey.
My fingernails are a bold, deep turquoise. Maybe if I appear bright, the sky will follow suit. All I want to do is look like April.

Seasonal changes serve as a portal to the past, triggering memories of this time last year.

I wore a black dress on Easter, not particularly emulating the motif of spring and its symbolism. I spent my days chasing what was unattainable. Emotional unavailability. Love that would not love me back. Friendship that was beginning to falter, no matter how hard desperation escaped my lips. My actions were useless. Actions that tried to save what may be lost for good.

I wore my black dress on Easter as the sun shined and trees showed early signs of life, of green. I slowly walked up the steps to my friend’s house, clutching a small pot of lavender.

I was walking across a tightrope, trying to maintain my balance.

I made my way to the coffee shop on a rainy evening; daylight still lingered at seven pm and the April air was mildly cool. He nodded through the window, encouraging me to come inside. To have tea. To keep him company.

He was there, but he wasn’t. He was present, but far away. The barista glanced in my direction, as if he understood. But then again, maybe I was projecting; maybe, in that moment, I just longed for someone to understand.

I toyed with the zipper on my sweatshirt while a woman asked if I cared to discover my ‘Native American Spirit Animal.’ Tuesday nights were for the psychics.

Close your eyes, she said.

Instinctively, I was tempted to laugh, but I was drowning in vulnerability and answers, of any kind, were nothing to laugh at.

What kind of environment do you envision yourself in?

My mind went blank.

It’s okay, let’s try again. She was eager. Persistent.

Maybe a sea, I mused. I like being near or in water.

After a few more questions, she concluded that I was a seal. You dream a lot. You dream vividly.

I told her that on some nights, my dream self attempts to bridge the gap between my subconscious realm and day to day experiences, pining for the closure and clarity that’s missing.

I saw that he moved to the counter, now chatting with the barista. I approached with her news.

Apparently I’m a seal, I explained to them.

He didn’t seem to buy into what this woman was preaching. He was distracted.

I can see that, the barista said, rather adamantly. You’re a happy person.

Sometimes, it’s the people who hardly know you who expose who you are. Who see you clearly.

My disposition is happy, I thought to myself. That’s my core.

I needed the reminder.

I left with the friend who was present but far away, and we stepped outside, into the April air that was mildly cool.