The growing sense of dread surrounding the start of a new day tomorrow is becoming overwhelming. I want to stop time, this screeching train on a track that leads off a cliff. But I can’t. I can’t get off the train. You know that feeling when you’re on a roller coaster, and as you’re about to reach the very top to race down, you realize you’ve made a horrible mistake, but at that point you can’t do anything? Yeah. That’s me right now. I can’t stop time. The closest I can come to stopping it is by reminiscing. So, here I go.
This past summer, I was so close to God. I read my Bible and prayed and felt His presence all around. I remember going to the farmer’s market to get those wonderfully tart currants, popping them in my mouth one by one. I miss waking up mid-morning to bird chirping and video game music. I miss t-shirts. Oh, how I miss t-shirts. You have no idea. I remember the itch of mosquito bites all over my legs. Heck, I even miss them, too. I miss canoeing by starlight and sitting on my swing in the evenings. I remember those bitter heartaches–how sweet they seem now. (That sounds weird. I really can’t explain it. Sorry.) Flip-flops, tank tops, air conditioning on long car trips. Sundresses. Oh, I miss sundresses–seersucker, too. I ache for the pool, tanning, and that overwhelming sense of freedom. I miss being able to kill time. Freedom. Freedom. Free. I came as close as anyone could to flying, no matter how broken I really was. I remember when I cared about picking clothes off my floor and organizing my shoes. I remember when I saw nature and immediately thought of something poetic–I oozed poetry. I miss the warm, sweet wind. I miss the days I spent writing in my green notebook. I even miss that time I stayed up the entire night crying. I even miss that.
But now it’s December. Summer is over. Even fall seems to be over, with the leaves all brown and the trees nearly bare. Oh, I want to stop time. Even better, rewind.