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I wonder sometimes what would happen if I just boarded a train and left. Gone away. To be able to blend into a crowd of strangers and forget every responsibility I have. I also wonder, if you think of doing this too. When I was a kid, my favorite book was one called, "How To Disappear Completely And Never Be Found." I was hoping, as a 9 year old in a 4th grade class I hated, it would tell me how I could seemingly fall off the edge of the world. Instead it was about a girl with a mother who didn't care about her, her mysterious father, why she wasn't allowed near water, and how a boy turned into a rat, all tied together through strange comics. I kept reading because I felt like the main character. It's funny, really, looking back on this.
I only later began to appreciate how the novel could turn a mundane and overdone reality into something magical. Maybe even macabre. But to me it's all the same, anyway.
I was thinking about this today when you wanted to go on a walk. Maybe you recognize this too; that every time I've tried to kill myself has been preceded by me wanting to run away. I could have talked about anything that fancied my mind. About the coin you picked up halfway, if I felt like it. I could have talked about the Mandela theory and how reality and time are related. Hell, I could have even talked about how I was already planning my next attempt that morning. Instead, I found myself saying, "Paul should go to communist club. Something about it's structure- how all they want to talk about is the inherent evil of capitalism- would help him." And you laughed at this, and that made me feel a little bit better. Because even though both of us know Paul's too depressed to do anything, we know how to make even the worst situations a little nicer. Maybe it's because I tried killing myself and only told you and my mother what I was doing, or maybe it's because we found ways to laugh at my own illness, that we've learned how to deal with these things.
You wanted to clean the coffee maker, I remember that. It didn't matter I had the exact same one- albeit clean- sitting at home. That coffee maker is essentially responsible for me getting better- that coffee maker ended an existential crisis that had been going on for too long. And, just like with our lives, we chose to clean out all the gunk and cultures growing in the pot because we saw beyond that. And no one else will understand this.
Do you realize how beautiful this is? How incredible that the entire definition of this world could be the word "coffee maker" and how that's all it takes to make you smile? Do you see the beauty in the irony life throws at us? I've been trying to find God, yet it's moments where you hand me a novelty mug from the library's kitchen and I laugh, where I think I've figured life out. Because maybe that's all there is but there's so much more to it. Every time I have black coffee all I can think about is my backpacking trips in Big Bend and you. The stars are in our eyes and sometimes they glisten brighter than all those nights where I'd sneak out of my tent and look up at the galaxy. And you'll have to see it, because it's an exact reflection of your soul.
I realize I could board a train to Alpine and become a park ranger for Big Bend and see it every night, if I really wanted. But it's times where we walk and only my stupid comments fill the space where I remember I'm already there. I write mountains and build worlds. I stop time through a camera and you hold it. You breathe life into art and I've found it intoxicating.
I may just be some kook who eats fried chicken and cheap cake with her friends, but if that's not living then I'd rather be dead. I see therapy for Paul as getting milkshakes and talking in a parking lot at 9 PM, because I want him, and my best friend, and all my friends to see the philosophy that we have.
I want them to feel the same things I felt watching the hot water trickle over the coffee pot you were washing. I want them to see every day life as sacred. I want to achieve great things.
I could have bought my ticket and left this night, you know. I could have. But it's just those times, where you see me sitting on a couch; pizza slice and taquito in one hand, the other busy typing, and you want to take my picture where I realize I don't have to go anywhere to find what I've been looking for.
The entire world exists around me. Every single detail holds a life or death significance and it's begging me to see it, smell it, touch it, to live in it and this is a welcoming I embrace.
The stories I give you to read will only hint at this. Just know this is out there, though. Know I'm writing revelations as you tell me how you're day's been going; know that most days I wake up wanting to take a direct flight to Canada, but I don't. And I won't.
As long as we take walks for a coffee maker, I'll stay.
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Wondering thoughts! I think like this all the time.
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