Dearest friends, those kindred spirits, they ease the passage through the darkest waters. Yes, days or weeks or months may pass before we warm our hands over the same fire, but it is a destination worth every minute that leads us there.
I’m not privy to that which lasts. When I leave a place, I tend to light the dynamite and watch all bridges burn behind me. Those burning monuments have lit my path to more distant lands where anonymity and rebirth are embraced. Other than family, I can count on one hand those friendships that survived the flames, but count them I do. I count them dear, and I count them true.
We need people. I need people. Or more specifically, I need my persons. Those persons who recognize me without all the glamour and shine that distracts other, less interested people from the truth of who is joanna. I need those persons who remind me of who I am. Like when you’re a grown-up who doesn’t like cake, and your mom says, “Even as a baby, you never really liked desserts.” To some people, I’m just a somebody who doesn’t like cake. To my mom, I’m her somebody.
Tonight, today, this weekend, I feel incredible gratitude to be certain someones’ somebody. And yes, three months separate us from warming hands over that fire, but like I said before, it’s a destination worth the cost of arriving when the destination is home.
a scribble of jo 