It Hit Me
NOVEMBER 1, 6:43PM
I was on the way home when it hit me. I was intrigued, my imagination fully captivated. The change took me by surprise. Similar to the first hints of winter, I missed the early signs and signals, only recognizing what happened long after it had occurred -- I am usually the last to know.
Coats had already replaced summer's colors, just as the night's breeze braught a different meaning. Busy adjusting to the new scheme, I missed what was right in front of me, how I was truly feeling. With time, I stopped listening to my smooth, deliberate voice -- the voice of logic and reason. It couldn't help. Instead, I listened to my heart, body and soul.
A connection was starting to form: The magical, exceptional, more to this world, do anything for another, entirely mad, completely devoted to, sweet connection. If it went well, the connection might even move beyond, beyond connected to intertwined: The mixed up together, part of each other. The Talking to Myself because no one else understands. The wait that I'd repeat again.
After all, when intuition says that's it, whatever it is, that's it. Speaking to my history and desire, to today and tomorrow. When the pull arrives, it's both exciting and terrifying, but it's the pull, and it must be trusted.