Breakthrough

Dear Love, 

     The window of the Pilot broke somehow. How could I feel so guilty for something that I didn't do? So much has been going on already. "When it rains, it pours," you said.  I sat through the ride, silent. You began to talk to your mom about your anxiety and paranoia. A part of me wished I could talk to my mom that way -- openly. You continued to ask your first love how she was feeling and what she was thinking. Another part of me admired your concern. And another part of my mind focused on the fresh, chilling breeze coming through the window as we all cut through the air. I tried to express my love for that "cold, but comforting" feeling, but the broken window was letting in consistent thumps of wind against our eardrums, making it hard to hear things over the sounds outside. I continued to look through the window, or the lack thereof, and read through the bright, blurred lights floating, as we passed through the blue darkness of 5pm that December evening. The whole scene was so familiar and again, comforting to me. It was as if I was staring through my bedroom window at 12 a.m., sobbing, stressing, worrying, boiling, and deeply wishing I was out, enjoying that very feeling of cool comfort... but this time, I was actually feeling it.

     I'd like to think that it symbolizes something: breaking through... into the new year. You'll see things just a little clearer. You'll listen and hear more than you're used to. And you'll feel both new and familiar feelings, maybe even all at once.

     The window has been broken. I'm ready. What about you?