Dear December,
Today started out kind of gross and inconvenient, and by 'gross' I mean that I didn't want to get up. Of course.
But I got up, and for a few hours basked in the filtered light of God--Sundays, for my family, means church and waking up at an ironically ungodly hour. 8 is too early for the weekend. Choir practice: our plans for the day knocked back a good two hours.
So yeah, that happened. I have a gig next next Sunday, though? Honestly, playing in church has never really gone so well for me. The last, and only time I performed in a church I screwed it up. The preacher was kind of sexist, anyway.
I'm still thinking about the parade. God, I wanted to apologize, I wanted to say sorry, but I knew it would never be enough. So I didn't say anything. That's the thing with me: when I can't find the words, the response fitting to something I've done, I freeze up. The silence stretches so wide that to say sorry would just dredge up old memories.
On a lighter note, I went out with my brother and sister today. We went shopping and shi.t for stuff and just hung around in stores for not too long. I got a book. My brother bought his game console. We ate dinner in a Panera crowded with college students studying for finals, and after that, the mist turned to fog too thick to see through and it was beautiful and terrifying. My sister kept saying how amazing life was, and in those moments when the fog would curl around headlights, I knew what she meant.
Driving through thick fog is fucking terrifying.
Esther
YOU ARE READING
dear december
No FicciónContinued from last month's Dear November letters. A little less angsty, a little more poetic. Originally done on Polyvore, by @writingtips' and @smileylina 's suggestion, who got the idea from Youtuber Carrie Fletcher's series 'Letters to Autumn'.
