"breathe in, breathe out.
tell me all of your doubts..
everybody bleeds this way, just the same."
breathe in, breathe out, move on and break down.
"if everyone goes away, i will stay."
we push and pull, and i fall down sometimes, i'm not letting go, you hold the other line.
there is a light in your eyes, in your eyes.
hold on, hold tight, "if i'm out of your sight. everything keeps moving on- moving on."
hold on, hold tight, make it through another night.
in every day there comes a song with the dawn.
--mat kearney, breathe in breathe out
disclaimer: i don't have the gift of putting feelings into words.
i don't think in words. just feelings. that's why it's hard for me to talk about things. so excuse my for my vague-ness, or confusing-ness, or dramatic-ness.
i should have been smarter. i was already carrying my own burden. vulnerability, i suppose.
i guess i learned a lot. i learned to take it a day at a time, an hour at a time, maybe even a minute at a time...
i learned how i ought to be treated.
i learned faith, and patience.
and so when everything settled down, i thought the worst was over.
well, that was true.
but everything wasn't over.
i had been gone from home for 3 weeks, and to be honest, i hadn't thought about anything heavy for a huge amount of time. and so i was terrified when i was faced with the thought of facing it again.
i was standing at the front of the bag check line in the montreal trudea airport. i hugged them, and tears started to fill my eyes.
"sorry," i said, "i don't know why..."
she smiled. "it's okay," she said, "you've had so much to deal with this past year. this has been like a vacation from your problems."
i let out a short "ha".
she hugged me again. "i have to go. you go ahead. you'll be fine."
and they turned around and walked out of the glass doors to the van waiting outside.
i wiped my tears on the sleeve of my blue sweater and turned around.
the blond swedish boy in front of me turned around.
"uh, excusez-moi," he said, "parlez-vous francais?"
"un peu," i said.
"do you have a pencil?" he asked.
"um, i have a pen..."
he looked at me.
so i dug into my yellow bag and handed him the pen.
he finished filling out his declaration form and handed it back to me with a nod. i smiled.
and that was it, i knew i was back to the Real World.
it didn't hit me until hours later until i was in my own kitchen with a tall glass of water. "you go ahead. you'll be fine."
she wasn't talking about the bag check line, or customs, or the layovers.
she was talking about everything.
i will be fine. only if i remember what i've learned:
take it slowly.
breathe in, breathe out.
"patience is waiting. not passively waiting. that is laziness. but to keep going when the going is hard and slow-- that is patience."
3. quiet, steady perserverance; even-tempered care; diligence: to work with patience.