Today, last year, was the first set of fireworks my girls ever sat through. We took the long way to get to a nearby hill, close to home, good view, less chaos. As a family we walked, the girls chattering along, their father and I commenting on the homes we walked past.
Such a nice night it was, in my memory.
The mosquitos ate us alive, Vivian squealed with one of her friends as Ros ran circles around them, and their eyes opened like saucers when the colors and the sounds rang across the sky. Such pure bliss on their faces I thought I’d cry.
Tonight, I block the sounds out with Crystal Castles, toss my memories into a bag I’ll leave at the curb later, and sob silently to myself.
I know it will be better. I know I should have forced myself out the door with friends, surrounded myself with strangers, created newness. But I couldn’t pull myself away from here today, couldn’t trust myself. I know that someday, this will be memory, that I will no longer stumble across boxes full of things saved from our first years together, things with meaning kept like secrets hidden away.
But it’s not someday just yet, and my heart hurts tonight. I expected so many more nice nights under Technicolor skies.