Nouns: People, Places, Things

I saw a girl today who looked so very much like a Literature and Landscape friend of mine (I like to call her Audrey, for that is her name) and I just stared at that girl for a much-longer-than-is-comfortable amount of time to stare at a stranger because the resemblance was so striking. Of course I texted Audrey about it, because that is what friends do. We share our awkward moments. (And between Audrey and I there is plenty to go around). We digitally chuckled about it, but then Audrey admitted, "I wish it would have been me because that would have been wonderful."

Yes, wouldn't it have been wonderful? For a long lost friend to suddenly turn up on an unexpected corner on an unexpected day?

I wonder if the heart/brain creates hallucinations or mirages from the things we miss, if it has a secret file of things-you-miss-but-don't-always-realize-it. We see people who look like other people or hear a song that reminds of us that-one-time or smell a smell that is only familiar from years past.But it only happens unexpectedly, as if the brain has been saving it for this day or that.

But really those times, don't they just leave you aching for what once was? For people who are hundreds (if not thousands) of miles away?

___________________________________

For me, it was just a reminder of how lonely this grad school time has been. How night after night I come home after learning and teaching and tutoring and sometimes running, hastily eat dinner in my bedroom (because I can get more done if I eat and work at the same time) and then after reading and writing and planning I go to bed. In the same small twin bed that I slept in when I was a child (I've had to rely on my parents for a lot of things, in this case basic furniture being one of them). The bed is so very small. Most of my pillows end up on the ground by morning and there is never enough room for all my books at any given time. And the one thing this bed would definitely not tolerate would be another person.

So that bed has become a sort of sad metaphor for my life. I have let myself slip into a state where there just isn't enough room. Not enough room for another person or other people in general. A husband would be nice, I will freely admit it, but there isn't room. But beds are for so much more than just husbands. The best conversations happen on beds. They always have. Beds are for friends, for sisters, for children. You tap on the bed signifying your desire for them to sit, to come into your realm, and you move over to make room for them.

I have placed my hand over the cup that could potentially "runneth over" saying, "Thanks, but I've got plenty." In this place I didn't consider that I needed more than I had. I already had friends, I had no need to make room for more. In my bed there has been room enough for me, but I never considered that maybe I needed to make room for more. Or at least let the past be, grow up, buy my own furniture, and be ready for more when more comes.

Because isn't it really about the people, the places, the things? Verbs are important too, but I need more nouns in my life.