There once was a girl who moved to a place far, far away. What she was moving for, she did not know. And even now, perhaps she still doesn't. Maybe it was to fall in love; that much she did. She fell in love with a city, vibrant, and intoxicating. A city that stood as a foundation for a life that would take her in directions she'd least expect, places where she would fit seamlessly and soon call home. A home filled with family, dysfunctional, deranged, and unshakeably irreplaceable. She fell in love with a man, a beautiful man. A man who's flaws intrigued her, who's looks could melt her, who's heart, though tightly wrapped and carefully guarded, held hers in a way she had never known. He was wonderful, and she loved him. But no matter how much, time found that it just wasn't enough. And so in letting him go, she came to turn a page devoted solely to herself. And unbeknownst to her, this was where she would fall in love the most. Her pages would be the ones read in abundance. Her corners folded over, and returned to time and time again. The pages would curl and lay rippled from being opened and exposed. She would see in herself, something new. Something honest, but delicate. Something eager to grow, to be tended to, and adored. She would stop caring about things that did not matter, and start caring about herself. She would look in the mirror and smile. Chuckle at her rolls, admire her double chin, shrug off her mistakes, and bask in her beauty. And naturally, once she discovered her worth, she would stumble upon a man who saw a far greater value within her. A value that matched his own. And she would find in him a match for life. She would write a world of words about him. She would immerse herself in the thought of their future. She would kiss his face, and in his embrace, she would feel a warmth that made all other things cease to exist. Together they would become passionate, thought provoking, adventurous, childish, honest, utterly intolerable, and perfectly imperfect. They would make mistakes, they would fall and they would grow. They would want to tear each other to shreds, yet know just how to carefully glue the pieces back together. Together, they would feel like nothing could come between them, that they were inseparable. Until the day they weren't.
I don't know how this story ends, nor do I know where or when the next will begin. I struggle to define how I feel, or where I stand. I know far less than what I don't and it scares me. All I can do is focus on what is, and allow for time to decipher the rest. So here is what I know. I know that I will be sad, that I will feel out of place, and foreign in my own country. I will see things that don't make sense, and long for things I no longer see. I know that from now on, when I introduce myself to strangers, I will expect my name to produce a puzzled reaction, followed by a comment regarding football, and when this doesn't happen I will be disappointed, regardless of how much it annoyed me in the past. I will continue to be confused with which direction to look when crossing the street, and I will miss so badly the bustle of traffic and the opportunity to complain over tubes and transit. I will say things like take away, or half seven, or crisps, or taking the piss, and be looked on like an alien. I will bite the urge to want a pint at eleven in the morning and constantly remind myself what is socially acceptable alcoholic behaviour in this part of the world. I will giggle to myself when people turn down my offer for a drink when they have an early morning, and be shocked when a week has passed and I have yet to feel hung over. I will feel alone. I will walk streets I've walked for most of my life, and not pass a soul I care to see, all the while yearning for the days when I couldn't turn a corner without bumping into someone who would inevitably put a smile on my face. I will be relieved that cider is not a popular beverage in these parts, and curse it all the same. I will take better care of myself. I will be healthier. I will make it, without fail, to yoga and I will drink more water than wine. I will see a positive change in me that I will both appreciate and resent. I will feel comfort in the home to which I've returned, yet feel so completely torn from the home I love. I will feel a certain guilt wash over me with every time I feel happy. Any time I look to the mountains and feel peace, or remember things that I prefer here over what I left. I will want so badly to stay miserable. To hate what cards I have been dealt, and vow to loath each moment I'm forced to be here and not there until the day I can return. But I won't. In time I will find happiness. I will look to the mountains and feel peace without pangs of guilt. I will start saying chips, stop saying you alright? as a form of greeting, forget all endearing english slang, lose my mildly influenced accent and eventually return to just being Canadian. But I will never stop my attempts to inject the phrase willy nilly into daily conversation. There will be days where I will come to terms with being single; there may even be days where I am ok with it. But they will be far, far outnumbered by those that are whole heartedly consumed with thoughts of pale skin, and brown, wavy hair. Eyes the colour that rest between sand and sea. Days that dream of blood moons, and rolling fields spattered with floating sheep. Nights that are wrapped between two, blanketed with words about nothing and songs about everything. Beds will feel big, and my heart will feel small. But that's ok. Because, in this moment where life has placed me, there is only room for one. And that pillow that rests untouched beside me knows any amount of time is worth waiting for to once again frame a face that has always fit so perfectly next to mine. And hopefully one day always will.
I don't know how this story ends, nor do I know where or when the next will begin. I struggle to define how I feel, or where I stand. I know far less than what I don't and it scares me. All I can do is focus on what is, and allow for time to decipher the rest. So here is what I know. I know that I will be sad, that I will feel out of place, and foreign in my own country. I will see things that don't make sense, and long for things I no longer see. I know that from now on, when I introduce myself to strangers, I will expect my name to produce a puzzled reaction, followed by a comment regarding football, and when this doesn't happen I will be disappointed, regardless of how much it annoyed me in the past. I will continue to be confused with which direction to look when crossing the street, and I will miss so badly the bustle of traffic and the opportunity to complain over tubes and transit. I will say things like take away, or half seven, or crisps, or taking the piss, and be looked on like an alien. I will bite the urge to want a pint at eleven in the morning and constantly remind myself what is socially acceptable alcoholic behaviour in this part of the world. I will giggle to myself when people turn down my offer for a drink when they have an early morning, and be shocked when a week has passed and I have yet to feel hung over. I will feel alone. I will walk streets I've walked for most of my life, and not pass a soul I care to see, all the while yearning for the days when I couldn't turn a corner without bumping into someone who would inevitably put a smile on my face. I will be relieved that cider is not a popular beverage in these parts, and curse it all the same. I will take better care of myself. I will be healthier. I will make it, without fail, to yoga and I will drink more water than wine. I will see a positive change in me that I will both appreciate and resent. I will feel comfort in the home to which I've returned, yet feel so completely torn from the home I love. I will feel a certain guilt wash over me with every time I feel happy. Any time I look to the mountains and feel peace, or remember things that I prefer here over what I left. I will want so badly to stay miserable. To hate what cards I have been dealt, and vow to loath each moment I'm forced to be here and not there until the day I can return. But I won't. In time I will find happiness. I will look to the mountains and feel peace without pangs of guilt. I will start saying chips, stop saying you alright? as a form of greeting, forget all endearing english slang, lose my mildly influenced accent and eventually return to just being Canadian. But I will never stop my attempts to inject the phrase willy nilly into daily conversation. There will be days where I will come to terms with being single; there may even be days where I am ok with it. But they will be far, far outnumbered by those that are whole heartedly consumed with thoughts of pale skin, and brown, wavy hair. Eyes the colour that rest between sand and sea. Days that dream of blood moons, and rolling fields spattered with floating sheep. Nights that are wrapped between two, blanketed with words about nothing and songs about everything. Beds will feel big, and my heart will feel small. But that's ok. Because, in this moment where life has placed me, there is only room for one. And that pillow that rests untouched beside me knows any amount of time is worth waiting for to once again frame a face that has always fit so perfectly next to mine. And hopefully one day always will.
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