What happened there? Where’d you go?
My eyes push left and up and flutter. I assume that was the giveaway. But it’s hard to explain the gratitude and the melancholy colliding, and how the existing moment now maps two roads. One heavy and dark and burdened with reminders of other days not so good, which would repeat if I were not here—and I would lie to myself later about it and dredge deep, again, a year hence. The second is no road at all, really, because I am floating, grateful. Now. But I do realize in a fleeting fraction of a second that I am indeed exploring something new, irreversibly clear-headed enough to grasp. Most who know better than I call it contentment.
I wave my hand as if to swat a small, relentless, powerless fly, steam really, cooling, now sugary dew on my eyelashes. My eyes are back, locked.
No, I’m fine. What looks good here?