Hiding

New York is all shades of grey today: grey buildings, grey sky, grey slush covering the grey sidewalk, grey faces from lack of sun and real air. Due to the threatening weather, we were released from the office early and I babystepped home, terrified of slipping and breaking my ass, thus rendering me useless for St. Patrick's Day. The sleet storm was daunting. My friend messaged me "come 2 met?" and I told her I was easily intimidated by messy weather. I stretched out across my loveseat in my miniscule living room, "French Kiss" on low in the background, and finished Carnet de Voyage by Craig Thompson. He compiled a travelogue with touching sketches documenting his publicity tour through France, Morocco, Switzerland, and Spain. He was so emotionally honest. I was indulgent and allowed myself to live vicariously through him as he ruthlessly exposed himself. I so often find myself in a place of cowardice or paralysis when it comes to peeling away and laying bare what's happening inside me (confessing my feelings into the internet's anonymous void does not count). Immersing myself in his experience broke me open a bit. Pages 221, 222, and 223 made me weep. He said "I love you." He did it repeatedly and without hesitation. How can anyone be so brave?