Baltimore, Sunday Night
It had been another bad day. The worst part was, there had been nothing that had made it a bad day. It wasn't like there was rhyme or reason for it, but for some reason as the sun went down and the lights came on over the water, Kathy been struck anew by grief, her breath thick in her throat, her eyes burning with tears. Maybe the lights had reminded her of LA. Or maybe they'd reminded her of happier, easier times, when everything was good. More than good. Perfect. She'd known what she was doing and why--everything had made sense. She'd had a plan and every step she'd taken had moved her closer to her goals.
Now she had no plan, no goals other than 'make it through the day.' Some days, she felt good, like she was making progress, uncovering bits and pieces of herself that she'd thought she'd lost, trying to fit them into the person she was now like shards of a broken mirror. Other days, like today, she felt like she was drowning and every breath was a struggle around the thick weight of grief and regret and pain that sat on her chest like a creature out of myth. Most days were somewhere in-between, an odd muted gray as she fumbled her way, uncertain whether she was moving forward or backwards or even off to the side.
Like she did so many nights, she made her way to Baltimore. This time, she found herself on a rooftop somewhere, staring down at the city. She didn't think she'd even stood on this particular building as Banzai before, but still the vantage point and the angles were so familiar that the ache she felt sharpened to the point of true pain. But the tears stayed where they were, locked away, and instead she just sat, staring at the city, at the life, she'd once called hers and waited for it to pass.
It would pass, right?
[For one and up early for SP]
Now she had no plan, no goals other than 'make it through the day.' Some days, she felt good, like she was making progress, uncovering bits and pieces of herself that she'd thought she'd lost, trying to fit them into the person she was now like shards of a broken mirror. Other days, like today, she felt like she was drowning and every breath was a struggle around the thick weight of grief and regret and pain that sat on her chest like a creature out of myth. Most days were somewhere in-between, an odd muted gray as she fumbled her way, uncertain whether she was moving forward or backwards or even off to the side.
Like she did so many nights, she made her way to Baltimore. This time, she found herself on a rooftop somewhere, staring down at the city. She didn't think she'd even stood on this particular building as Banzai before, but still the vantage point and the angles were so familiar that the ache she felt sharpened to the point of true pain. But the tears stayed where they were, locked away, and instead she just sat, staring at the city, at the life, she'd once called hers and waited for it to pass.
It would pass, right?
[For one and up early for SP]