I am still reeling from the colorful beginnings of twilight, now in its latter stretch, a comforting dark blue lingering and glowing well past 6. I had to stop the car and lie down between the trees, a receding ocean beyond my feet, people in my periphery, and I could see none of these clearly. It was dark enough to not be bothered, bright enough to feel safe.

December to February was a tumultuous period. Some of the worst pain I have ever felt, and possibly could ever feel, burnt holes in my chest. I wondered if I still had any hurt left. I still wonder. You see, since then I could no longer cross this new threshold - I couldn’t cry when I should. I haven’t cried in a while.

The wind was a constant friction, a cool and rapid stream against my skin and in my ears. My eyes welled up for the first time in a while, this time from… what? Happiness? It’s been difficult for me to tag anything as happiness nowadays, as I am finding that we define it in as many ways as we do with love. Could be the chemical rush, the chase and the desire, the end to a trouble, the finality, the quiet…

In this moment, in spite of everything else I couldn’t touch, being in the intersection of the few things I love, and the light that takes the place of things I walk away from, I am just content.