A Quick Hesitation

A quick hesitation, then I made the decision. I walked briskly to a place of comfortable interactions, the house of a friend. I nudged the half-cracked door open and grabbed a seat across from some familiar faces. We exchanged small talk with big laughs for much too short of a period. One of us made a movement and the rest followed. We walked, talked, watched, waited, ignited, sat, passed, and relaxed. All of us but me that is. I was excited, rightfully, but it put me at a distance from the regularity of my friends. I was abnormally aware, recognizing irregularities seemingly insignificant to those around me. I was excited and I was alive. I stood up, pulling my surroundings into my mind, using my senses as vehicles. Everything I saw, touched, smelled, heard, and tasted was fuel for an idea. The world was a blank palate waiting for my stroke.

But something held me back, some unrecognizable insecurity weighted my soul to the point where I couldn’t lift my brush. Inspiration was overwhelming me with its presence. Too much, too many, toppling towers of ideas tapering towards the edge of my grasp. Stop thought. No… think, don’t confuse confusion with doubt. I was doubting myself… again. I pulled together my confidence and continued.

I took a look around, trying to capture the essence of my surroundings with a hopefully subtle glance. Everyone was still there, doing just fine, and so should I. My hand clasped itself around a smooth, round stone and bounced it off the water. The ripples echoed through me, pushing soft vibrations through my permeable skin. My friends spoke casual words and I listened, occasionally contributing something simple. My thoughts pulsed through my body at the rate of my pounding heart, sifting themselves through my pores.

A change of scenery, please. My body trailed my mind to each new place, allowing sensory overload to haphazardly cushion my steps. Walking felt more like wandering, which sort of felt like waiting. Strangely enough, a somewhat complacent smile crept silently across my face. This was it. For a short period, I succumbed to sitting impatiently in that once familiar room. No more I pleaded internally, and without a viable explanation to myself or those around me, I left.

I sought comfort, salvation from the burdens of intrusive intellect. A soft situation to center myself was what I wanted. I followed my feet up a mild incline towards the library, the perfect place for passive pensiveness. I walked each set of stairs as if it were the last of a thousand, climbing to the very top; the quiet section. I pulled open the liquid door with a little bit more effort than expected and received a welcoming waft of stale air. In the center of the room sat a single person. Neither of us acknowledged the other, not out of awkwardness, but out of respect. I stepped left, grazing for something tasteful. My hands pushed against the bindings of books that caught my interest, but I could not make myself remove one from its so carefully selected resting position. Row by row I trailed the edges of books with my eyes as if one of them was about to call my name. Then I heard it, the soft whisper of the book I had come to find. It hung loosely from the shelf, too big to fit in synchrony with the other books. I walked over, pulled it out and felt its weight against my forearms. I looked over the cover for a minute, then carefully placed it back upon the shelf.