there's this line from the guernsey literary and potato peel pie society that i keep thinking about:
"What did he look like?" I asked, for I wanted to picture the scene. I expected it was a futile request, given that men cannot describe eachother, but Dawsey knew how. "He looked like the German you imagine--tall, blonde hair, blue eyes--except he could feel pain."
sometimes i think, just for today--just for today i will be the woman with the perfectly manicured nail beds who does crossword puzzles to completion and listens to this american life on a regular basis.
just for today i'll be the woman in the three-inch-pumps who woke at seven for her five-mile-run. and who can smile just-so and melt the heart of many-a-man.
just for today i'll be the girl who doesn't need months to warm-up to someone, for whom shyness is not a reality, but something read about in literature or dissected in art-house movie theatres.
who sits down to a meal. by herself--without four years of ghosts trailing just beyond her field of vision.
for whom sadness is a singular event--occurring intermittently at best. who can speak three languages and laughs sans snort. who cuts her grapefruit gracefully and and prepares her meals in advance. who always responds to emails and calls in a prompt fashion. who mails thank-yous the days she's finished writing them. by hand. whose handwriting doesn't deteriorate to scribble. ever.
who knows what day of the week it is when she wakes in the morning. and how much money she has in her bank account--wait, scratch that, who has money in her bank account.
but i'm not. i am not that woman. not today. not tomorrow. probably, not ever.
but today--today i can feel pain. and that's something.