Gold & Crimson

I don’t take my camera out much anymore. I’ve noticed that when I have needed it most to capture beautiful moments, it’s never really on me. Don’t know why. My renewed inspiration to do so however stems from having seen the trees form gold and red arches over quiet suburb streets near my neighborhood again this fall. The gentle October breeze sets the leaves into a rhythmic sway, carefully plucking the deadest, ripest ones to go sending them into a scatter on freshly cut lawns prepared for the cool autumn days that inevitably lay ahead. Despite the normalcy of the weather and the earlier golden sunsets that make dinnertimes much more beautiful, the air of strange perspectives and emotional confusion seems prevalent all over again this year. The stability provided by the daily pressure of academics, work and the frequent extracurricular activities seems to have been broken by the unusual emotional chaos that seems to govern the fall season. I look around and tell stories about the people that pass me by, hundreds of thoughts racing through their heads, hiding, deceiving, convincing themselves that this is the way everything’s supposed to be and that the pain just reminds us all that we truly are alive. And I am in no way an exception to it all.

The source of this new darkness seems to be something resurfaced. Haven’t actually felt this way since sophomore year, but lately, I have been feeling rather…alone. Reluctantly, my feelings have consumed me lately, fostering fears and worries and concerns and sentiments of emptiness that all seem to have come in a giant wave I was not prepared for. The thing is, I find myself missing many things about “the relationship.” I see it everywhere. I miss being able to call someone or be called, to have the question what are you doing tonight come up and really really mean it. I miss not being able to pick out a movie this time because its just not my turn and not even caring because I can spend the hour and a half just having my arms around them. I miss holding their hand and having conversations about nothing for hours and feeling the sense of being alone with them even in the most crowded of places. I miss being the first to wake up. Or being woken up. I long for someone to see at the end of the day who I can go up to and without me even asking throw their arms around me, and without even having me tell them what awful haunting things happened to me that day…just know that’s all I needed. And that they’re all I needed. And that they don’t just listen to it all, they share in it.

I would love to walk through those quiet empty streets with the gentle crunch of golden and crimson leaves from under our shoes resonate through the quiet and take pictures of us, of the trees, of the paths, of the leaves, of the shadows cast by the early evening sun and have that be all that mattered for just a few long moments.

I guess I just miss too many people, and haven't felt this fragmented in the longest time. I miss not having to wake up from the dream.

I’m starting to sound whiny. And selfish, actually. Really, I’m just writing it all here so it no longer has to live in my head. And so I can go on and not have to think about it. Or maybe this is me and my desperate cry to the powers that be to bring me someone. Or at least give me permission to stop trying and looking and longing. So that they can just come along, totally floor me. And then, maybe I can finally feel something again.

I miss Venice. I miss St. Peters at night. And I miss you.

Goodnight.