lindsay vicious

Chapter 12.

Their pain used to be mine, and mine theirs. We would talk on rooftops and through phone lines for hours during the winter months–lamenting the day, abhorring the cold. But then we would laugh out loud, and sing along, and never repeat our complaints again.

We understood that we were all fireworks–each singular in its moment, but each a compliment of each other. Together, we were the most fantastic spectacle (even if we were the only ones that understood).

But now we are a bit older, and we remember those times like the good ole years. We speak in “then"s and "remember when"s–trying to remember what is good about one another–trying to remember where our edges fit together. They’ve worn over time, and we have lost the nooks we knew so well.

It is painful, but we have lost each other. And that is right. It is right, because we are growing up. But it is sad, too.

But I am happy, in my grown-up-way. Perfect in imperfection. More bold, less apologetic, but more forgiving. Weary of moving on, but realizing that there is nowhere else to go, but "on.” Some of us are less present now, or less kind. Some of us are just different. Different in not a bad way or a good way. But the years have a way of sorting people out–trying bonds–gathering and separating.

Despite, throughout, I have found my partner this year–good and true. And I look at him with amazement. I get to look with that amazement forever. This is the blessing of my year older.

I hope your year was just as testing and just as brilliant.