Ra-in-Seattle

I saw Brea on Monday, two days after we said our final goodbyes. It was Saturday night, after Palomino’s happy hour dinner with Grace and Julianna. We parted on the corner of 4th and Pine. She hugged me for the last time and told me she was glad to have known me. Then she crossed the road and disappeared down Pine. I walked slowly along 4th toward Westlake tunnel, tearing up for the first time about leaving someone I’ve given abit of my heart away to. It’s difficult like that. Not knowing whether we will ever continue to be friends in the real sense of the word. I don’t think we really ‘clicked’ in the right places, the way jigsaw puzzles fit each other around their rounded jagged edges. Yet I was drawn to her from the outset - her short blond hair, strapover bag with badges, jeans and socks, and the manner in which she spoke and laughed. But most times we spoke haltingly and sometimes awkwardly - filing up the space of silence with words that don’t necessarily matter or dig a deeper bond. I woke up in her teal painted room that one early morning and felt out of place. Like it was something alien to me, an odd feeling of being far away from comfort. Maybe it had something to do with my hangover.

I saw her from afar at Pike Place Market that Monday when I returned for the last time to buy a pair of miniature journal earrings. She was wearing green and had her usual apron on. But I didn’t know how to say goodbye the second time. So I walked away.