Madrid

Month Four

Sleepy eyes glazed as they desended into the city I didn’t want to be in. The lump in my throat grew bigger and bigger as I sat among sleeping and content passengers who had no mind to return to the place they call home. For me, it was the last place I wanted to be. A heart- my heart- had just been ripped from those most loved after splendid weeks of laughter. Itineraries and paychecks obligated return, though being cried otherwise.

This life I have chosen, this life in this place… Is this really what I want? My heart echoed the miles I had just travelled.

I attempted to hold onto purpose and determination. I focused on soon-to-come adventures and travel partners but the weeks of waiting for their arrival seemed like epochs not yet passed for a downtrodden heart.

The attendant gave me a half concerned glance as he passed through the dim cabin. I was too lost in my own head to remember to offer him a small smile.

I looked to my left at the mother and son fast asleep. To my delight, the curious teen had left the window shade open. How do I do this?

I peer beyond the present to see the whole. And then I see how Crayola red has stained the sky. It wasn’t warm; it wasn’t soft. It was bold and demanding, blaring. It clamored for notice, a siren of significance. It was a secret hope for only those who witnessed. Many a sunrise and many a sunset later, I have never seen a child’s red in the sky as I saw that morning.

Lightyears of perspective passed in moments and soon stiff passengers roused. Red faded into orange and what would normally be beautiful transformed into standard compared to the magnificence that had just left. We descended further now into grey and dreary storm clouds that masked the gift just passed.

What would it be for the hope of new and glorious to be found just beyond grey? Can I draw this parallel or am I reaching a bit too far? When is a sunrise simply a sunrise? Have I made too much of it?

Perhaps I have. But even if I have, what do I stand to gain- equally, to lose- from such a parallel? Can I not stand to ask myself what lays underneath the initial impression? Or, what have I missed at first glance? Are we not always better for seeking hope in beauty?

The heavy heart found herself lost in second considerations so long that she started reconsidering her initial opinions… What if this place wasn’t… isn’t… as I thought?

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