History

I got to the beach with high school friends. The first thing I did when I got into my room was to find a table next to an electric outlet. I promptly sat down, and set up a small work station. I pulled out my ancient Apple laptop, the one barely able to function. I tried to get the Internet to work thanks to my phone, and hopefully get to writing, reading, and catch up with my needed work.

I didn't do much from that. I did, however, chance upon an old archive of chat messages from years past.

It was the recorded history of me with the other people who walked in and out of my life. It was like some kind of treasure trove. I can't post them here - a gentleman must keep secrets. I can say that it makes me ask questions of myself.

I remembered (and still do remember) many things differently. What I didn't realize was that there were spots I tried hard to forget - how, early on, my efforts to be warm were met with ice, or how I would find long stretches of me chatting met with silence and *seen*. It gave me perspective - I was never really wanted or cared for then.

I found more, and they dated to days when I was gone, when things were awful. There seemed to be this great need to see me, to talk to me, to find time for me when I had none, when my life had moved forward. Was it because I was needed? Because I was finally appreciated? Or was it because I was, in some ways, just the different variable from when things were bad?  Like some echo you struggle to keep hearing, as it disappears to the cliff's arms?

There was just so much hurt in there too that I projected onto chat screens, and while this was happening, there was also a lot of deep concern that I was too emotional to see. Or perhaps, because I'm not a vocal, verbal lover, and I appreciated things more than just words and nice lines, that I could not catch where the words begin to nudge me towards work to patch my wounds together.

I'm different now, we're different now. But I also wonder if we're really not all that different. That there is no such thing as different hearts, or growth in others. Only that we finally learn to dance without stepping on each others' toes.