As with any post that contains incredibly personal themes, I must preface the blog with this: I am okay and I do not want you to ask me if I’m okay or talk about my mental health to other people without my permission. Good? Good.
So here’s the story.
I woke up and the weather app told me that today was going to be the best day in a couple months. The temperature was a glorious number of 64 degrees and I had my favorite class later. It was going to be a perfect day.
It was almost 10:30. I’d been driving for hours, 13 hours go be exact, when the sky started to sparkle. One after another sparks of color shot into the sky and exploded in a puff of glittering light. I was enamored.
I watched the fireworks, eyes drifting from the road. They were so… random. It was the beginning of march, no date the world was celebrating. No reason to use such an extravagant form of celebration.
I watched them in the distance sparkle, shout, and explode. I had to reach them soon, right? I was driving towards them. They had to come from somewhere.