Flat Tire
I watch the tire shrink to the ground as I prepare my argument for how, in this moment, I am the more deflated of the two of us.
As I watch it melt against the pavement, I catch a leaf falling out of the corner of my eye and for a moment, the urge takes over to shift my challenge from the tire to the leaf – I fell harder, farther. That was nothing.
Quicker than a blink, my body tenses, ready to start a war – the only victory to be had is acknowledgment of greater suffering and that’s not a badge I’m ready to wear.
They say misery loves company but in my experience, misery is less looking for company and more for an opponent to size up against, measure the weight of, an opportunity to compete.
In my experience, misery doesn’t love company – it’s infectious. We all wore masks for two fucking years to hide the enemy we couldn’t see but I can count at least decades now of a nonreaction to a pandemic – the silent killer, misery.
I take a deep breath, let my lungs hold the air that the tire can’t. That’s what we really need – someone willing to watch us deflate and resolve to hold the air, the space, until we patch ourselves back together.
There was a long time I spent looking for someone else to come in and patch me back together.
Insisted that I hold my own air, space, while they get to work but honestly, it’s not how life works.
The wind got knocked out of me over and over no matter how hard I tried to hold on and it’s only when I was empty – no air, full of holes
only when I was empty, the wind stolen from my sails, my ship sinking
only when I was empty and there was no breath left to hold, were my hands finally free enough to reach into the pocket to find the patch for those holes.
Much love, until next time.
Madeline May I... 