Baalat Teshuva

Time is escaping me. It is disappearing beneath the horizon on the wings of birds who forgot to fly.

I don't do thunderstorms well.

When late night hours turn to early morning hours turn to another sleepless night you forget to be transparent. The insomnia is lacing your words again and mother isn't fooled. You forgot your raincoat and your rainboots and your rainbows at the door. This isn't like the movies. If you go outside, you will get wet.

Awakening

It's beginning to feel like autumn, like tights and sweater season, like warm apple cider days. I'm choosing the things that matter. I'm sitting between the present and the future and I need to make it count. The briskness is exhilarating. I can feel it heal my lungs. In. Out. Breathe. This is what we call beauty.

It is the decision to be happy, because that is mine to choose.

I do.

Redecorating

My bed leans against the opposite wall now. The room looks bigger. There's more space to fill.

But I am breathing in the empty, the blank of possibility. It tastes like autumn days soon to come, like watching leaves and betting on the first to fall, like hope. And for a minute, I can pretend that my parent's voices didn't sound so sad. I can pretend that he missed my stutter. I can pretend that the truth doesn't feel like lying. I can try and believe that I made the right decision.

I didn't.

No one knows that more than I.

And I don't know if it's something I plan on sharing.

But it's something I regret.