Far From the Twisted Reach of Crazy Sorrow.

In English we're reading O'Brien's The Things They Carried. Our teaching had us write lists of what we carry, physically and metaphorically. I wrote a list of memories, guilts and unaccepted apologies. I wrote that I carried a heart. When asked to circle which thing we'd be willing to drop first, I got scared.

Last night, all of the things I carry transcended me, suspended themselves in the air above my head. The detachment was slight though, and comfortable, if not a bit shaky.

There was mild surprise that I could exist without all of it. And now I know.