Dreams of the future bring me back
to the paths of the past.
***
I
feel the certainty of my decision. I notice the clarity, the light-heartedness and
the determination accompanying the decision. It’s a commitment that liberates.
A calling that resonates in the deepest fiber of my being.
So
these days, I’m contemplating the future, strategizing the needed steps to
manifest this decision into a full-fledged reality. These thoughts of the
future curiously carry me back to the memories of my past. I turn the pages of
the past, carefully studying the moments culminating to this dream that sings
in my soul as purpose, as my reason for being.
I
am led to revisiting the walk after the rain. This is the beginning of the new
chapter. I see the lampposts lining the paths of the campus, their golden glow
rippling soft light into the mist. I feel beautiful in this memory. I walk
slowly, swaying along in a lace dress that reveals sun-kissed shoulders and in
boots that click against the rain streaked pavement.
I
walk with my first love. He listens to my day’s adventures, exploring a new
city that is now his home: a graffiti garden, funky coffee shops, and vintage
stores. Two cameo necklaces are treasured finds from the vintage stores and I
proudly wear both, an over-the-top fashion decision that tonight feels
right. The cameos watch over my
pounding heart, a heart yearning for a subtle sign from this boy that he loves
and cares for me.
I
silently wish he would reach out and close the distance between us by taking my
hand. Instead, the distance is filled with conversation and a shared
enchantment for a place of learning illuminated by gold tinted light.
At
the time, I believe I delight and see these sights for him. I speak words of
support and take the sights in twice because I want to envision a piece of his
life I will not be in. I am brilliantly aware of his presence, his movements,
his words, his entire being; and simultaneously, incredibly sensitive to my own
presence, my own stride, my choice of words and the murmur of unspoken
thoughts. I am present and removed; I watch us walk through the mist as a
distant observer.
The
remembered walk pulls me to the walk that follows a year later. I am alone this
time. I retrace the steps of our walk not for the sake of nostalgia, but to
reestablish my sense of direction in this sprawling city that is both new and
homelike.
Curiosity
and spontaneity guide my steps into the academic buildings, secluded
courtyards, paths traveled by students now on spring break, leaving an empty
campus for me to fully take in and in the company of my thoughts happily
explore.
I
think of him, naturally, but there is no sadness that comes with the fading
photograph of us walking after the rain. Instead of the familiar pang of
heartbreak, there is a deep sense of gratitude for his role in my journey. I’m
thankful for the evening stroll that left me - not in his arms as I originally
thought - but at the beginning of a new chapter. Now I walk alone and brave in
my decision to follow a soul calling that all began to whisper my name during
that one walk after the rain.
