When I wrote this piece, I was…
Broken. The word has such a negative connotation that sometimes, it makes you cringe. (Broken bones. Broken relationship. Broken family.) When I sat down to write “Risen,” I felt the need to change that. Because although…
it’s much harder to forget something you love [to do] than accept it. because it’ll just be there waiting like a month-old voice mail. you’ll see the flashing reminder every day but pretend not to care. “it’s a telemarketer. an ex. a drunk call. a butt dial.” whatever. you’ll act like the message is irrelevant. you’ll act like there’s nothing left to be said or heard because you have moved on in life, and after another week it will be “auto-deleted” anyway… Only it isn’t.
At least, not in your own memory bank.
It lingers. Just to tease you of what could be or better yet, what should be. You are afraid to be swayed, to be convinced that this thing—this utterly important and singular thing—can never be left to fade away in the digital space that is your phone (or wherever voice mails exist). You are afraid to remember how it isn’t even a “thing” at all.
But in this age of smart phones (and hopefully smarter people), it is far too simple to press 1:
"New Message…" You hear a familiar voice (a familiar calling), and for every moment you’ve waited to listen, your heart wrenches out a drop of hesitation. You realize that each second you’ve waited was one you failed to live. (Dramatic, I know.) All it takes is one more, “Hello” for you to drown in something bigger than yourself. Your world has capsized into an ocean full of deliberate beauty, no longer confined to a retched boat of wooden walls and desks, and bills, and bills, and bills—have I mentioned bills?
All it takes is one more “Hello” for you to reunite with the part of yourself you’ve tried to neglect. You won’t need a flashing reminder anymore.
(when i see corny sh*t on twitter, i retreat to tumblr… and vice versa.)