My phone went off what felt like too early but I picked it up anyway.

I was in bed, my blanket lovingly tangled around my arms, blinking away sleep even though my eyes were ready to close again. As I slid the alarm off, notifications filled my screen. A few texts received while I’d been sleeping was nothing new, but the name that lit up the screen hadn’t been present in months.

I sat up, heart beating faster than usual and rubbing my eyes frantically in hopes of waking up enough to recall what could have prompted him to get in touch.

“I read a little something on the Internet today…” was how the message began.

Ah.

He’d read something I’d written the day before. I hadn’t expected him to find it, let alone tell me he did, but I was glad my portrayal of the situation was as truthful as I could remember since I was telling the story years after it’d happened. Unless you’d heard it from me directly, there was no real way for anyone to know the person I was referencing… unless you were the one it was about.

And he praised me for it. He was glad I still walked along the river he’d introduced me to so long ago.

I was glad he’d said hello.

– – –

The art of Taylor Swifting.

That’s what her blog said. It wasn’t the last point on the list, but it was the line that made me sign up for the course: a writing intensive with my we’d-probs-be-besties-in-real-life blog/insta friend, Hannah Brencher. When the day came, a cold & rainy Saturday in November, I sat on the floor of my living room, laptop open on the table my dad built for me, my new red & gold notebook – a gift from two friends who encourage my craft more than most – next to it.

When she got to Point 13 of the class, I knew it was the point I had come for.

Writing about someone who is real.

Someone with a name and an address in your heart. Sometimes that someone has eyes that ask questions and hands that give answers and feet that point in your direction no matter where you are in the room.

Sometimes that someone has lips that say no and shoulders you can no longer cry on and songs that still only remind you of them even years later.

“Some people are only going to be life lessons,” hb said.

“But people deserve to get second chances.”

– – –

I tell stories. Moments that deserve to stay get photographed with my camera & I do my best to convey their importance with my words. I meet a lot of new people doing this, some staying in my life longer than others, but the result is the same; a lot of life lessons are learned.

When we let our guard down, when we open up with where we’re really at, when we use our words to comfort or crush others in those moments of wrestling with life; a lot of lessons are learned.

In the midst of the lesson is when the words seem to come the most freely. Feeling all the things makes it easier to get them out, even if it doesn’t make sense yet. I have digital piles of paper full of what-the-heck-is-happening & God-this-is-so-good sentiments scattered all over the pages.

Many times those thoughts get transferred here, to this space. In my mind this corner of the Internet is like my living room; Christmas lights on the walls year-round, candles lit for no real reason, pillows the perfect size for hugging on the couches. A place for stories to be shared over coffee or whiskey, eye contact prevalent & silence between sentences welcomed.

I get pretty real here.

– – –

We walked around his neighbourhood, slowly & without a destination, as the sun dipped lower in the sky.

It had been so hot during the day, but the sweet relief of a cooler evening was rolling in. Our conversation went back and forth about everything and nothing, stopping to take pictures and lay down on the prickly grass as we whiled away the time.

Even with him right in front of me I was distracted. I wanted so badly for there to be an opening in the conversation for me to tell him something, but every time silence settled over us I couldn’t work up the courage to say it.

Instead I watched my hand in his, swinging alongside one of my favourite dresses. He’d pause once in a while, checking both ways for traffic and then playfully tugging me off the curb as he lead us across the street. That smile he once reserved only for me would appear as he looked back at the girl who loves face to face time so much she’s willing to board a plane to get it.

In those small moments my heart would ache, wanting him to know how deeply I felt but never wanting him to find out how much I needed him.

– – –

I’m still learning.

Learning how to love. How to text first. How to offer a safe place to someone. How to say, “I need help. I can probably MacGyver this situation & everything in me is telling me to just figure it out already, but getting a Christmas tree into its stand is hard and I need help.”

I am stubborn and scared of being hurt and still learning what it takes to risk.

– – –

“Laura, I see a lot of you on social media, but I know there’s more to you than that so thanks for sharing between the gaps tonight.”

Some stories get told in the moment the lesson is being learned, but some stories need to be sat with, mulled over & prayed through, before anyone else hears them – especially online.

And especially when there are real people involved. The ones whose side of the story you can’t tell because you aren’t them.

I can only tell my side. My experience. My lesson learned.

I never expect the real person to read it, but I keep it in mind that perhaps they could. Even if someone has hurt me, I don’t want that to be the final word in the story. Some lessons are hard, painful reminders of heartache & loss, but some lessons are easy, beautiful tokens of gold & victory.

And everyone deserves a second chance.

Photo by Kaihla Tonai 

– – –

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