Return When Sad

Remember what it was like, when you could come and go, simply because you were able. You could long for something, look at the clock, grab the keys, and go.

Remember all the fiery skies and orange mountainsides, the quietness of a lone ascent and the lonelier descent. Remember the horizons.

Remember who they looked at when they laughed. It usually wasn’t you, but sometimes it was. You don’t remember who, but you remember you consider it one of the most beautiful connections between human beings.

Remember what you felt when you whispered to each other in bed. No one could possibly hear you, but you whispered anyway. Remember what it was like, blind in the darkness, you reached out and touched first a softness, then a warmth, then the vibrations of a sigh before hearing it, then the thumping of another heart. Remember what it was like to hold and to be held.

Remember the eyes in the rearview mirror, meeting yours, amidst snores. Remember her touching your elbow after you’ve hiked for thirteen hours, and driven seven. That was your record — two hours of sleep, and hands so cold you couldn’t even unzip your pants. Remember that.

Remember laughter at the dinner table.

If all else is forgotten, remember this —

Remember your mother crying, and I promise you, your strength will return.