Delicate

A long time ago, in nearly another life, I was hospitalized.  17 years old, the trauma not so much to my body but to my mind.  Seven days I spent in the confines of those brick walls.  A difficult time to say the least, the largest impression I left with was that I would never underappreciate a breeze ever again.  I remember watching out a window, the wind blowing leaves on the trees, rustling the grass.  I’d touch the glass, longing to feel it myself.  Closing my eyes, I’d imagine the air moving around me, causing a breeze.  But there’d be none.  The stale air choking me.  Dead and suffocating.  It was at that exact moment that I promised myself that I’d never take wind for granted ever again.  I was changed in a small way forever.

To this day, I love the feel of the wind on me.  In the heat of summer or in the chill of winter, I need it’s movement.  At night, I can’t sleep without a fan blowing on me.  To feel it around me, tickling my face had become necessary.   You see, a delicate point was created in me.  That experience produced a fragileness that was unique to my life and left unexplained, peculiar to others.  Unseen to the naked eye, you’d never know it if I didn’t tell you.

I was reminded yesterday that we all carry those tender moments with us.  Less a point of weakness than an exquisitely dainty alteration in our beings.  Tiny moments that help shape the people we are, the people we’ll be.   I interact with you and you with me, our relationship and the level of intimacy determined by the amount of these delicate memories we share.  Our relationships made or broken over our ability to appreciate their meaning. Sometimes we can relate, other times we don’t but ultimately we’re looking for acceptance, not so much understanding. See that I’m tender even when you don’t fully agree that I should be. Realize that we’re all soft in places.  All a little delicate.

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About Chris

These are the pieces of my life and those that make it worth living
This entry was posted in Becoming, Me, Random Ramblings. Bookmark the permalink.

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