A Broken Valentine

A string of emotions, I may never recall

The past two weeks have slipped by in a haze of forgotten moments.

It's all a blur, except for one vivid scene: waking up on Valentine's Day with slight tear-stained pillows and the lingering aroma of vanilla musk enveloping my room. On the counter, my phone lay abandoned, filled with messages I've yet to respond to and missed calls I've yet to return – all from dear friends and loved ones, offering reassurance, though we all understood that Valentine's Day would hold a hint of melancholy.

It marked the first time in three years that I found myself alone, and I’d entered a state of ennui.

by Megan Gabrielle Harris

In the days leading up to it, I found myself taking early morning strolls in the town's center. There was no pleasure in inhaling the still air; each breath felt weighted with a sense of unease. Yet, there was a quiet satisfaction in realizing that it had taken me almost four months to reach this point – to simply walk outside without drawing second glances from passersby, who used to scrutinize my every move.

I observed their fleeting expressions – some filled with concern, others tinged with curiosity or uncertainty – as they remembered my once confident demeanor, now replaced with a calm, yet enigmatic presence.

Since my injury, I've noticed a subtle shift in myself. While I remain unchanged on screens, whether in writing or through voice, in person there's a discernible difference. I've become quieter, more composed, with a tendency to dress in black, my hair slicked back into a bun, adorned only with minimal gold jewelry.

It’s somewhat elusive, as if I'm not avoiding attention but rather seeking a different kind of connection, quietly asserting my presence. I hold eye contact longer, studying faces more closely, and speak with a measured tone. I’m less inclined to walk outside with earplugs blasting music to drown out the world, and when I do listen to something, it's usually a subdued podcast.

I found solace in the stillness that accompanied this healing journey, yet it’s this same stillness that’s stirred a bit of inner turmoil in recent days. This feeling of “ennui” or dissatisfaction I mentioned earlier? It’s starting to permeate my everyday life, simply because of how I live it.

See, while I’ve fallen into this slightly different demeanor, it wasn’t something I consciously intended or desired. Those who’ve read earlier entries such as Stillness and Winter’s Pause know that the life I’d planned to live post-injury included weekend getaways, international travels, and impromptu adventures. I had envisioned emerging from this chapter of life as a more vibrant, social, and engaged version of myself. Yet, I find that I remain almost exactly the same, if not even more introspective.

Being someone with deep introspection isn’t necessarily a bad thing; my keen discernment helps me navigate life's complexities with clarity. However, truth be told, it’s not always enjoyable. I often find myself overanalyzing situations, seldom allowing things to simply unfold. There seems to always be a quest for deeper meaning or reason, complicating what could be straightforward. Many of my friends share this introspective nature, which perhaps explains why our casual remarks often evolve into profound discussions that explore unexpected territories.

I appreciate these moments, cherishing the depth they bring, but I can't help but envy those who effortlessly live in the moment. Those who speak without reservation, think without overthinking, and feel without inhibition. I’d like to embody more of that spontaneity, but I simply don’t know how. I'm uncertain when I'm pushing too hard or not enough to break free from the self-imposed constraints.

Obviously, the year is still young, and I have time to figure it out, so hopefully I do. For now, I’ll just take the days as they come – allowing myself to embrace each moment, and maybe, find a bit more of that carefree spirit along the way.

Until Next Time,

S.