Just like a lake and its floating green hearts… If the lake would be covered in waterlilies, you will not see the sparkling water holding the green hearts. You might miss the hearts, the clouds holding them, the water, the wonder of it all…
Overcast on a day when you wish for sun seems like punishment. Or a good excuse to hide in a coffee shop and find your way. Again. Life is like that. It likes tumbles when you don’t.
But that’s when you sit at a table in a coffee shop, your basket of life happenings by your side and your friend on the seat next to you. You take those life happenings, rags and all, and put them out on the table. They were all one piece a few days ago, you tell her. She knows. This needs no explanation.
A few sun rays escape through the clouds and land on the table. Life happenings. Yours, hers. You both know life would be no good without all of them.
Sulkiness does nothing. But you sulk until you know that. It takes a while. Years sometimes. Until you learn to use those rags life leaves you with and make a nice warm quilt and colorful skirts to taunt the rain and overcast days with…
You get bruised, you learn, you get up and walk again. Right? You ask, she nods; for a moment there you want to look dignified enough so she won’t think you don’t have it together. But she is not after that. Being proper has no place in a friendship. You are real, that comes first.
You peel words, raw as can be, off your bare soul and she’s there to lay them all in a pile that will later be used to patch the very wounds you speak of. It’s like chain mail. Everything holds together because you leave no piece behind. And why would you? It’s your life. Friends remind you of that. You know, the old “you are what you are because of all that’s happened along the way.” Don’t run away, you’ll have to come back to the same place. Only a lot more tired.
Friends help you see that. Own your life, your thoughts, yourself. You do that when you’re accepted in all that you are.
You are accepted by those you resonate with. Not a whole bunch of them, because you can’t really resonate with too many. The resonance in itself is a gift. You can’t abuse it or attribute it to just about anyone. You’d be dishonest. To them, to yourself.
If you have to cry, do it. Let go of holding your heart like a stiff bouquet of flowers. Sometimes you’ll tear up and look sideways because being vulnerable is still not your favorite place to be in. But you have to, she says. You’re not alone. She talks, shares, you listen. Her eyes become wells too. Life is often unkind, there’s many shared paths you walk on. Words fail where tears appear. Redundancy is forbidden. You don’t look sideways anymore. She picks up the napkin off the table, right from the sun puddle. Warm. She rips it in half. For you.
You just got someone’s heart, trust and half a napkin. Laughter plops its chubby feet into the sun puddle too. You laugh, you cry, you are alive.
By the time you leave the coffee shop the overcast will be done with. It will be either sunny and raining. The air will be lighter nonetheless. You’re lighter, and half a napkin richer.
You may forget to say thank you. Joy can be a wicked clown. Never mind, your soul spoke for you. But you know that. Your friends do too. Mine do.
Just like a lake, you… If you had too many people to crowd the surface, it’d be hard to let your depth be seen…