Lights will guide you home and ignite your bones. — Coldplay
As the December night air hugs my skin tight, my feet mark the path that’s guided by lights.
Shimmering blurs accompany me on my walks. Bursts of color on my left. White flashes on my right; white that looks like gold, which looks like a pretty bow of promise. Slight shivers rise and fall, aligned with my inhales, exhales. In the in-between, thoughts enter and leave, treading along with the pace of my feet that mark the path that’s guided by lights.
2012— It’s almost New Year’s. Is he going to reciprocate? How long do I leave my heart open? Just leave it open, I suppose. This space was dormant for years. Let it replenish, let it be nurtured, let it be filled. Even if met with nothing in return. Love without expecting anything back. Because sometimes, that’s what it means to be human.
2013 — Surgery date is mid January. Moved it back since I’m being idealistic about alternative treatment attempts. But of course that may not work. My feet move fast on the pavement, turning the corner, outrunning my fear. Surgery date is approaching. I’m simply going to be fine and that’s that. The walk is now brisk; the cold air slaps my face. That’s right, slap the fear right out of me.
2014 — It’s been three months. Too soon for family gatherings and inquiries and holiday egg nog. We’ll retreat together when it’s all over. A cabin? The city? Somewhere where we will be bubbled up in our very own snow globe. The lights cast a glow, illuminating my flushed cheeks. I smile to myself. It took me a really, really, really, long time to get here. But I’m finally here.
2015 — Positive change on the horizon. Sure, something had to give; money doesn’t grow on trees. But I think I’ll enjoy this. Other people energize me. And it’s okay to try something less cerebral. Let’s get out of my head and into my body.
Lights will guide you home and ignite your bones, and I will try to fix you.
Lauren Suval studied print journalism and psychology at Hofstra University, and she is a writer based in New York. Her work has been featured on Psych Central, Thought Catalog, Catapult Community, and other online publications. Lauren's e-book “Coping With Life’s Clutter” and her latest book, “The Art Of Nostalgia,” a collection of personal essays, can both be found on Amazon. She loves to be followed on Twitter @LaurenSuval and on Facebook @LaurenSuvalWriting.