There is a monologue I have memorized, chosen partially for its length, partially for the fact that it was the best out of too many options, and partially because it discusses things that long ago made their home in my chest, carving out a place to stay when I had no room free. It’s nice, to have something memorized, something that I don’t need anyone else for, something that isn’t for an exam. In doing so I felt, however romantically, that I had placed something into that carved-out section of my chest. It was a reclamation of sorts. A reclamation of my chest, of my brain, and you.
We move and I am grateful for the movement that allows me to continue forward. The time in which, though my feet do not quite reach the ground, I am still just another person in this strange existence we all manage to work our way through. In a way, there is a sort of comfort, to knowing that you do not always have to be tangled up in everything to be existing. There are moments of rest, periods in which you are allowed to sit and exist, just as you are.
The train tracks lull you to gentleness. The world will be here for you when you come back to it in an hour or so. The world might not wait for you, but has a space for you, regardless. And all your hard work amounts to something, and you are allowed to rest, you are allowed to rest.
The weight of the world does not rest on my shoulders and I am not expected to carry it. But even so, life is heavy sometimes, and though you don’t have to “grin and bear it”, you do have to bear it.
I am asking you to endure it. I am asking you to endure it. I am asking you to endure it.
It’s funny how little phrases stick with us, how people can condense so much into so little sometimes. I am prone to rambling, to easing over the hilltops, to giving a breath to everything I can see with its moment in my mind. Or to tearing out words from my thoughts to the document with too much harshness, transcribing as best as I can, sentence after sentence, perhaps too filled with nothingness to matter to anyone.
But I am not here to apologize. Not tonight. One of my mom’s mottos is “One problem at a time.”
Perhaps we overthinkers should start listening to those words. Don’t feel entrapped in your thoughts. It’s okay to throw them away for some time. It’s okay to focus on just one thing, as opposed to the mental multitasking we subject ourselves to.
This messy, overdue letter acts as my nth attempt at untangling my thoughts. I’m not certain it worked, but I am certain that once it is sent, I will go bug my mom. Loom over her shoulder as she scrolls through Facebook. Laugh with her a bit. Maybe brew a pot of coffee and make her play with my hair.
Don’t forget to be grateful for little slivers of consistency. I can happily say that this space, too, is a consistent part of your life. Once again, thank you.
