You Still Are

It’s been a while since I wrote like this on empty sheets and blank slates a stream of consciousness. One of the kindest writing styles—letting my soul get blanketed in the black and whites of the paper. You were sad and possibly nostalgic, yet I felt whole even in the emptiness and the dark of the night around us. Sometimes the balance of the light and the night seems offset, but at least you’re there in the morrow to see the sun rise.

I recall snowy nights and long and lonely walks full of joy and sadness in the glitter of the snow and the chill of the crisp air against my coat. Did you know that in the loneliness exists the bittersweet breath of life? You can only be lonely after experiencing the delight of another kindred soul making its way in the universe with you. Man… this universe is large, but somehow our world is the size of a corridor winding around itself. So many memories and so many thoughts that brought me back to life on this odd night. How is it that everything seems okay lately even when the world is tearing itself apart?

I saw your failing ventures and smiled—the thought of you leaping out of comfort and trying something new brought me joy. I saw success in the small moments where creativity blossomed like cherry red blossoms on the tree. Thank you, world, for bringing love after death and bringing life from the soil. Thank you for the tears that fall from my eyes in bittersweet emotion as my eyes stay hydrated. Thank you for the breath in a quiet room and the beats of music playing in my ears.

And if you’re sad, just know that you will still remain…loved…imprinted in the hearts of others. Hike your mountains and walk your winding roads. Make good and bad choices, but keep going. Whether or not I remain here today or tomorrow, my will will stay in the air as it fills your lungs. There are so many ways to love and I love so many times.

                                                                                    You are loved,

                                                                                    Hellen M. Barroso

Stream of Consciousness-Night

Sadly, it is the case that I have held on to love in all of the wrong ways. This is probably due to me never quite learning how to love healthily because no one before me taught me how. It is on these days that I wish she would just hug me and I wish she knew what truly went on inside my chest as I typed these words onto keys with the hopes of letting the floodgates open, letting them rise so that the water would pour through and stop building all of this pressure within me. I wish it were understood that I have limited control of these feelings welling up inside of me and pushing me outwards because I can no longer hold this inside. I guess we are all alone in our pain here and don’t quite know how to cross this chasm to hold on to one another anymore. It is regretful that your mother never knew what it meant to love that little girl now a mature woman that has faced the world and faces it daily with struggles and persistence, but I don’t think that I am nearly as strong as she who came before me for I tear apart at the seams too easily. It is not without repercussion to be near so much death and to wonder if my time will come too after all that is dealt with at present. It is difficult to sit in a dark room with a lump in your chest and this looming feeling of uncertainty, of the thousands of what ifs that I struggle to get to. I am a stream of light outside, but inside I am still very much full of night.

If I did not write, I would end.