I left the town with hopes high that this time would be different. I would set off on the open road, with the windows rolled down, coffee in my mug, and a precisely planned soundtrack as my guide; not stopping until I ran into mountains. Yes, I thought, this time will be different. The life that had so urgently drained from this body was now slowly, but surely, resurrecting within this lifeless form. The thought of a new love that came with conversation, dinner, and a movie seemed promising, and left me feeling a sort of renewal about my self and love as a whole. And so with the setting sun dinner came, conversation flowed, and hands were held. And, after seven hours of time spent together, a goodnight kiss in front of a purple front door was shared. And a seed of hope felt like it had been planted again where the land had once been dry.
And so I let the hope sit there for two days, taking root, crawling up from my toes towards my heart. The growth was familiar and warm, and every so often giving a tickle to remind me it was coming, and if I was patient, it would bloom again. After more coffee and conversation, I set back to the the town that had taken my hope in the first place. Do not let this hope fail, I told myself. And I drove, with the sun racing behind me to its tired bed. And as cars buzzed on the interstate, I drove by an empty yellow field where my eyes saw two young lovers dancing in a field. They bowed and swayed in the early spring breeze with the ease of two that had been together a thousand years. I felt deep within my bones that love was out there somewhere, and that until I found it dancing in a field, I could at least try to make myself happy.
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