It’s the last weekend of the summer, officially – at least on this side of the ocean, and I chose to spend it with my very best. Even those that are too many miles away, their presence is felt in the laughter. That smile that is always found in the company of those who have chosen to keep me, and I am so very thankful that they have.
This is perhaps the last time, for some time, that we’ll all even occupy the same geographical space; each of us off on our own individual adventures. Some travelling across the ocean in search of the summer that often eluded us. Some taking great lengths to share a meal with a friend because they don’t know when the next time will be possible. Some taking that more frightening journey into the next stage of their life. Some taking decisive steps towards a future we’ve always hoped for them. Others still, taking that trip home.
It’s possible that even if we were physically in the same space we may not all have been able to come together. Our schedule’s often meaning that at least one of us isn’t present. Their absence always forgiven, their presence always missed. They make the act of breathing easier, and the laughter so hard it hurts. A reunion when we all eventually return already plan. A single word all that was needed to plant the seed to a new adventure.
It is at this time I choose to start again. As we all get ready to set out on our respective adventures I find myself wanting to revisit that part of me that I have missed and whose return I have hoped for: my words. Too long feared that they were irrevocably lost, that it had become too hard to be that person who felt those feelings that made the words possible. Still sometimes too hard to feel those things, but with new knowledge I can allow the words to return.
I feel myself hungry for them now. My fingers itching when they stay away from the words too long, whether it’s in the writing or the way they move across a page feeling the words beneath them before they are read. Stories waiting to be told, experiences that require commitment to something more constant than my own memory, my thoughts needing to be remembered.
It’s just over six years since I first started to take the chronicling of this life seriously. That single decision to start making a record has lead to my path into unexpected territory. Friendships forged between words, often unspoken yet somehow understood. Those choosing to read them coming to learn more about me than those I had shared a lifetime with. My thoughts laid bare, finally me. Those that stayed coming to be the people I now find completely necessary. My bestest.
Here on this blank canvas I will find the words again. It is more than time. Summer still has some time to linger, and I hope it does. Fall is most definitely making its return.
I’ve only just begun.