Breathing Room

Did this space exist all along, waiting, or did we create it?

Doesn’t matter: we got here, and we can get back after we leave.

We have to leave to return.

It was the same in those other, more cramped and crowded spaces we found each other in. Those rooms were never comfortable for me, couldn’t wait to get out of them, even if you wanted to stay until last call.

There’s a difference in going willingly and being tossed out by a sweaty, roided-up bouncer with misspelled tattoos. The way you land outside in the street matters. On your feet is best, but it doesn’t happen often, unless you walk away before someone (that smelly bouncer) grabs you by the collar.

There’s never a refund on the cover charge, even if the band sucks, an ex-wife and her brother singing their feelings off-key on stage, standing before and singing over the talented violin player crammed into the back of the stage, as if his presence is the optional one. Better to leave before the band finishes the sound check.

So, where do we go from here? Onward and upward seems to be the trajectory. You follow your star, I’ll follow mine. I look forward to hearing your stories and sharing mine when we come together again, and I hope it can be here or somewhere similar, where we both can breathe.