Sometimes the twinkly lights draped across the building out my window thrum like a heart in fear. It only lasts a few seconds. Then they are solid again for quite some time.
If you didn’t live here, you probably wouldn’t notice.
Certainly nobody would describe the street, or even the restaurant wearing them, with that detail. It defines nothing, but it happens.
Talking about it is not what makes it real. Not talking about it doesn’t make it stop.
Sometimes, I am very angry. Full of vitriol and venom, and tall walls come up, and my breath comes out like flame. In those moments, I would burn a field of dandelions sooner than making even a single wish for tomorrow.
It passes so quickly that you wouldn’t notice. The heartthrum of me goes back to a solid steady beat in minutes.
I know these moments don’t define me.
I used to worry that flicker would flame and then burst, and all of me would ash to my anger. It happened before, in my younger years. But I am now confident that they will flicker out as simply as they flickered in.
Lately I have been learning to hear myself in those moments. To pay as close attention as I do the twinkly lights outside my window. To honor the glitch.
Why does it happen? What does it mean? Can I be kind company to myself as I thrum? Will I ever be able to translate it to words and then stories and then other hearts?
I don’t need to point it out. It isn’t important that anyone else notice its existence.
But I want to.
It is, after all, my window.
One thought on “honoring the glitch”
To respect and acknowledge our emotions doesn’t mean we have to act on them. I learned this at a young age and have made it hard for me to express emotions in anyway. I guess it’s just a balance we must find. Or maybe i’m way off?