Have you ever puked on the subway? Well, not on the subway, exactly — or the Tube, in my case — but gotten that feeling of utter nausea, the kind that starts in your heart and the next thing you know you’re running off the train to find the nearest trashcan, bush, whatever?
I have. This past weekend, in fact.
I went to visit some friends in London. London and I have had a lot of interesting moments together. Mostly brilliant. Some rather sad. London isn’t a city where you have a mediocre time. It’s really not. You either have the most magical time on Earth, or you end up puking on the Tube from sadness, or maybe you experience both in a mere 12 hours span, as was my latest adventure.
I could go into details. Give you the play-by-play of what happened. But I think there are some things that should be reserved for my personal memories… or until I’m a little bit less fragile.
But here’s what I do want to say: if you have something to say, something near and dear to your heart, say it. I know my saying that probably comes as no surprise, I’ve had a pretty strong track record of doing just that.
This weekend I did it again.
And it wasn’t pretty. It was full of ugly tears, confessions of love, and utter rejection. A lost friendship to boot.
(And some puking on the Tube.)
But I walked away with not a single regret, well, aside from wishing i hadn’t done that type of sob where you can’t catch your breath; the one that takes you back to when you were 3 years old and your mom wouldn’t buy you that doll you had to have.
But ugly tears be damned, I regret nothing.
When I’m 40 or 60, I’ll never have to wonder “What if I would have just said how I felt?”
I said how I felt. And that’s all I can do.
That’s all we can ever do.
Love, love, love. I’ll keep on if you promise you will.
“I hope one day 5 years from now you stumble across me when I’ve grown out of you and finally then after not seeing me for all this time it will break your heart.”