I have some ello invites. I’d like to see more writers there. Would anyone like one?
”I just can’t stop, ” I say to her. Her wrinkled face pulls itself into concern and I try not to look at it too long. It’s a reminder and I want to be kind, but the anxiety that’s pulling at my chest begs me to reconsider. I look out the window. We’re driving through the countryside and passing through a small town. It’s one of those cloudy days that make everything seem comfortingly bleak. Overcast sky, a drizzle that comes and goes, and that scent that makes you feel as though you’ve either grown from the dirt or are about to return to it. I felt the latter.
As I glance back at her, her weary lips pull into a gentle, self aware smile, and I can tell that she knows I am avoiding her eyes.
”I feel like all I’m doing these days is racing along, trying to get the next thing done while dragging my nails into the skin of the present, madly trying to keep hold.” There’s an old house out the window that looks as though it hasn’t been lived in for a decade. The paint has chipped so thoroughly that the siding had become a deep mildewed brown. The roof is a haven for moss and the windows are all broken out, except for the window in the attic—a half circle of yellowed glass that reveals nothing about the interior of the house, save that it is dark. I sigh.
All observations happen in an instant. Our vehicle moves along, and we pass it by.
”It’s not even that I want to go back, it’s just that I wish that I could stand still and just be here.” I finally look her in her eyes. They are clear. I can tell that though my sentiment is not shared, ours are not dissimilar.
The vehicle stops to wait for a train to pass. I watch the graffiti as it passes us by.