Catherine Ryan Hyde
Love in the Present Tense
Her two ears were dedicated to listening to Drake, Mumford and Sons, and Radiohead on a Sunday.
The brown-skinned girl wore a loud summery skirt, sleeveless black tank top with Hakuna Matata words and bird silhouettes printed on it, cheap flip flops, and a faded and torn two-tone body bag. Her ensemble screamed different among the crowd. Still, her feelings were painfully unchanged. She’s standing on the edge and anytime she might just choose to jump willingly or fall blindly. The weight of silence could push her forward and its gravity could pull her down for good.
The entire day was supposed to consist of a few errands noted on her single yellow post-it. She needed focus yet she walked with lost eyes and distant thoughts. She stopped for a while and tried a new coffee shop. She found calm and scribbled briefly on the white blank page at the back of the receipt. She decided to go home. She followed the queue. She waited too long while carrying heavy purchases and heavy heart.
Monday was a new day stuffed with new encounters.
She wore an oversized yellow shirt with a neon green tank top inside, sandals with neon green and transparent straps, denim shorts, and a printed and earth-hued bag pack. On her agenda was to get a mani-pedi. She fearfully picked a shade of pink nail polish. The scream got louder and she might just explode any time. There might be something wrong but there might be something right too.
She walked. She was looking for a book. She ate in spontaneous cafes where her tired feet would take her. She scribbled again. She found the book. She walked again. She got lost in two cities but she just continued walking until she found the spot to finally ride back home. And she did.
She listened to Bastille for the first time at night.
*Title inspired by Matchbox Twenty’s ‘Yourself or Someone Like You’ album