By Amber Robbin
There’s a hard to describe feeling in my chest. Sometimes it passes through the eyes, at other times, straight through the heart, attaching itself to passersby. This song that I love makes me think of it…
Ooh this masquerade
For a foolish vision
Left you wandering
For a new addiction
Chasing after ghosts in your bed
Reaching out like souls in transit
Shadows in your walls
Loaded like a weight in water
Sometimes it gets to be too much.
It’s the feeling of filing past a hundred faces, each one belonging to a body you could hold or stop to smile at. Each one a person you loved or cared for. It’s the feeling of all those people being gone, and realizing, that’s just the way it is. That life is just a carousel. And you don’t get to choose who stays on.
It’s not that you need them. It’s simply that a part of you once knew them so well, and doesn’t understand where they went. It’s the exhausting thought that somehow, you’re just supposed to keep going. Keep attaching yourself to more souls, when you know that the second one enters your life, the countdown begins to the moment you’ll have to say goodbye.
It’s the pain you’ve caused one another – the piles of hurtful transactions that hang in the air, expected to just evaporate. The awe you feel when you realize how pointless it is to hurt each other in a world already rattled with suffering.
It’s like my father’s song which, even as a child, brought me to tears. Because I already knew it was true…
Every time we love someone
A flower grows inside our heart
With each goodbye it nearly dies
And we grow apart
So far apart
People come and go
Like the seasons
Summers turning cold
Where are we to go?
Where are we to go?
There was so much good as well. Priceless things you learned from one another, singular moments you’ll never forget: a kiss on the forehead, a gaze through the darkness, that precious little hand reaching out for you to cross the street. The good is what lingers, making you remember what mattered most and wish you’d never lost it.
But there is nothing to be done. You can’t know certain people any longer, for what transpired, or sometimes, for what never will. It’s not regret that you feel. It’s life. So you let the ride go dim and round the bend alone. You sit in silent contemplation and let the feeling in your chest pass through your eyes.
You try to be thankful, wish them the best, and go ahead.
When you’re ready.
Because it’s like what one of those souls used to say: you must ir adelante.
Amber Robbin is the creator of Tumbleweed Diaries. She is passionate about languages, world travel, and currently working on a book about her adventures in Italy.