already, not yet

It’s raining in College Place. You must be careful as you walk down the street, in and out of buildings, classrooms, coffee shops. If you aren’t, you might step in a puddle, splash your tights or jeans, or get water in your shoes. And the discomfort of wet pant cuffs and soggy socks is annoying and distracting. I’m drinking a latte, staring out the blurry glass windows, pelted with raindrops. My roommate Emily is writing a story, and Iron and Wine is playing over the speakers. And I feel nostalgic.

I don’t return phone calls, because it’s too much hassle, and I make plans in my head to lay in my bed, futile and warm. Tonight we’re going to make soup, and invite friends, and laugh. And hopefully, my anxiety will all melt away.

I walk through the halls filled with a foolish hope, that the life I’ve always wanted to live is going to begin any day now. I hum songs and smile at everything and think to myself, “Maybe, it already has.”