A Thousand Miles/Old Friends With New Faces/Losing Sight of Everything

I’m moving. In June. To Florida.

I’m moving.

To Florida. A thousand miles away.

I don’t understand why this is so hard for me to say. I can’t speak those six simple words out loud. They get stuck in my throat like crickets. Perhaps I’m hoping that if I don’t admit them to myself, they won’t be true.

I live in Virginia, as close to the oceans as one can get. The weather here is insane due to the fact that we are on a peninsula, surrounded on three sides by water. Our seasons aren’t so much seasons as they are sea-directed rapid shifts of snow one day and sunburn the next. I was born in Jacksonville, Florida, but I have lived here in Virginia since before kindergarten. I remember not knowing why we were packing up our things and leaving (Navy dad), just that we were. I remember running up the steps to the big white apartment complex we’d be moving into and stepping right on top of a sharp-end-up nail, lodging it deep into my foot. I remember limp-running into my new home, crying from the pain but giddy.

Years later, we moved to the house I live in now. I thought it was the most beautiful place. I loved my neighborhood and the friends I made down the street. This was the place where I fell in love with words, with shady groves and maple trees and forests that were magical only in my own head. I colored twigs and sticks Sharpie-black and pretended like they were Harry Potter wands (HP was the first and only love of my life), then stained my jeans with the ink and got reprimanded. I was gifted a tiny green parakeet for my birthday and quickly became afraid of it. I sat in my bed on Christmas Eve at ten years old crying because I was terrified of growing up and losing everything I had, afraid that I hadn’t lived a good enough childhood (I met our good old friend called ‘existential crisis’ at a very young age).

Virginia has a lot of my memories. Here I met the friends that I’ll remember for the rest of my life, the rag-tag group of seven writers I call my “dead poets society.” Our group isn’t exactly a group anymore… there’s been a lot of falling out, and I lost my best friend. If you’re reading this, and you might because I’ve posted the link to my blog everywhere, I love you. You’re always welcome back home.

Okay. I’ve become a crying mess typing this. I’ve more or less accepted the fact that I’m going to be moving and leaving my old life behind while starting a new one in Florida. I’ve accepted it, but I haven’t accepted the life I’ll be losing. It hurts.

 

Part II of this nonsensical rant: WHAAAAT is wrong with my heart?

That’s all I’m going to say about this.

Until next time, I hope you all enjoyed my emotional outpour.