On Taking A Nice Walk

And breathing out to breathe in again

Today, I took a nice walk.

A nice walk is the kind of walk you say you’ll take with the kind of sigh of resignation when there’s nothing else to say or do — or feel, because you’ve felt it all already, and your lungs are so tired from breathing in and holding that breath, hoping it will all be okay.

I took a nice walk, today. I said aloud that I’d take a nice walk, but only to myself. “I’ll take a nice walk,” I said, and then I sighed.

I’d been crying, I’d felt everything, holding my breath to make it better but knowing that not-breathing fixes nothing. So all that comes out is a sigh and weak whispered words to the air. I said, “I’ll take a nice walk,” barely voiced, and then breathed out another resigned sigh.

Today, I took a nice walk. I walked, because I couldn’t feel anymore. I’d felt too much, felt it all, and needed to not feel. I needed to breathe, to breathe out, to stop holding in air whose restrained containment wouldn’t help a thing. To let the air go out, so that more could come in and then go out again.