[Listening to: Everything, by Lifehouse.]
As we travel through the northern part of Italy and into Slovenia, I can feel my heart starting to thaw. I know this sensation all too well, but it’s been a while. The mountains are more than beautiful, more than I can write on this page. Nonetheless, I’ll try. The water is a shade of blue-green I’ve never seen before. The mountain-side villages remind me of places I’ve only ever imagined. This is it. This is the awakening I’ve needed for sometime now. Why did I have to travel almost 3000 miles to find this place again?
Still, even now, I think about all I’ve lost in the past year. I can still feel the hurt; my chest is still hollow in some places. The hollow feeling, I know, will always be there. And, as I’ve said before, I don’t intend nor desire for it to be lost.
It’s as if the mountains were created to treat my broken heart. As if God sent them on my behalf, so that I might find some reprieve. I’m engulfed by their beauty. I’m wrapped, but not crushed by their power. I want to reach out to them, as a child reaches for its father’s arms. And, somehow, I believe they’ll catch me. If I could speak to them, I’d tell them I need them. Though, in all reality I know they wouldn’t respond in words––they’ve already said more than I could ask for. I can hear them now, speaking in their own language: “Wake up, you’ve still got a life to live. Run along now.”