Project Live (It's better to look up)

It's getting better.

I am beginning to feel again.

What perfect timing, for I feel as though I am changing right along with the weather. The ice has melted away, leaving behind the sunshine, and the the occasional blanket of dark clouds and rainy days. Spring rain is perfect, is it not? I didn't mind the cold and the rain so much today, for I knew in a matter of hours, or a few short days, that the sun would come out again to open my mom's tulips in the front yard, to warm my sunburnt cheeks another day as I pedal my way to school in the mornings.

I had decided I would feel absolutely nothing.

And it worked, for about a month. I was not happy, nor sad, or angry, hurt, or excited, I was just ...  existing. My days emptily slipped by, smiling because I had to, finishing my homework because it was due, studying for my finals because it was scheduled into my planner, waking up because my alarm clock filtered into my ears.

I filled my life with distractions, carefully picking through my thoughts, avoiding any song, any place, any memory that might bring me back to the shadowed place I would never allow my mind to wander to. Every little thing I did was a distraction from one thing. It was truly a genius and to be quite honest, relieving plan.

Only one problem.

Somewhere along the way, my so called "distractions" began to hold weight in my heart. 

I laid on the tramp as the sun was setting one particular warm friday night, and watched the two boys mess around with the basketball, occasionally throwing it my way. And my heart suddenley ached as the realization hit me and fear washed over me. I love those boys.  I love the way that they play chess in the library for hours,  the way they kick the doors of the school open, the way that they do not consider the scored of minituare golf to be a joke: for it is a very serious matter. I love how I am treated the same whether I am wearing a pair of ratty sweats and a t-shirt, or a classy black dress and heels: it doesn't matter to them, I am Rachael.

 I had begun to feel again.  I cried last night. It's been a while. Happy tears though, knowing tears, growing up tears,  wise tears, the "I know change has come and it is time to accept it" kind of cry. 

I find myself smiling, not because I have to, but because I want to; laughing even. I can feel the pressure of somebody's backpack sliding across my arm in the hall, the cold wind whipping my hair across my cheeks, a still small voice somewhere inside me as Brother Casper teaches the gospel telling me "it is true rachael, I am here.", I can feel the rhythmic impact through my tennis shoes as I run on the pavement, the weight of my Aunt's seven month old baby in my arms as I held him and watched his contagious smile light up the room. 

I don't know. I don't know anymore. I don't know what I want, what is going to happen, where I am going. I don't have any plans at the moment.

But that is okay.

Someday, the walls will come down. I know they will. I refuse to rush anything, it may take me days, months, years, seconds, whatever. to heal, but that's fine, I have all the time in the world.

Afterall, I am only seventeen and a half years old. (I missed my half birthday again, can you believe it!?) That is a requirement for my man someday, he must remember my half birthday, because I never do...

I will fall in love someday. The real kind. The run and jump into your welcoming arms, kiss right in the middle of a crowd, through thick and thin, forever kind.   
And this time, it's gonna last.

For heaven's sakes, If I have learned anything, allow yourself to feel. Life hurts. It really does. We were never promised everything would be perfect, only that it would all be worth it in the end. Go somewhere very quiet and very abandoned, or heck, somewhere very public and very crowded and scream. yell. sing. something. Get it out. You will feel better, I promise.

Live your life. There is only one. And it is all yours.