It seems as if I've fallen off the face of the planet.
It's probably true.
On January first, a friend of mine died in a tragic car crash.
When I found out, it felt like the universe had been sucked from it's oxygen, and I couldn't breathe.
Because even doing that hurt.
At some point, I decided to write. I decided I would take my pain and put it into words. But it wasn't as easy as I thought it might be. It took me a week to even write this post.
All my hipster friends were writing about it the day after they found out, and I absolutely could not. I wanted it to feel right, but it felt weird. How could I do something I loved, when someone I loved was gone?
My friend was a writer, too. We weren't super close, and this year, our paths had kind of split into two, but when it came to writing, it was almost like we were the closest of friends. Writing does that to people. It compels you to start an estranged friendship. And she wasn't into the big wigs, nor did she want to get a book published. But she was the in-the-closet, really-good, sultry, hard-core-love-song, kind of writer. And that made her ten times the woman than she already was.
She was actually reading one of my books (though the book she was reading was crap, and I don't blame her for never getting around to finishing it,) but I realized that, even in times of triumphs and chaos, I could write. I was given that. She wanted to read my book because she wanted to help me make it better. She believed in me, and the fact that I was even pursuing my dream meant a lot to her.
She inspired me to continue writing that third/fourth book I always give up on. (And trust me, I always give up on it.)
This whole death thing is weird, but somehow . . . somehow, there's goodness in all of it. While our clocks still tick, it's easy to forget the things that we're passionate about. It's so easy to forget the moments and words that make our hearts stop beating for a millisecond.
And when her clock ran out, she reminded me of how precious my time here really was. She reminded me why I was passionate about writing. She reminded me that many good things can actually form from dust.
So though her body is gone, her soul is still alive, and because of her I have a damn-good, sultry, hard-core, love story.
Thank you, Q.