He kept on telling me it had something to do with faith. Like I could buy it half off, discount, bargain store style. I was tearing out the thread at the cuff of my sweater because every word from his mouth made me nervous. I had a feeling it was more than this or less. I couldn’t be quite sure what direction the current was headed. I was wondering where people found the ease, how their step seemed longer and their handwriting slower. I was ashamed I had missed the lesson, felt it was too late to learn how not to worry about everything and everyone. He was still telling me to find faith. But I assured him there wasn’t a place I hadn’t looked, no stone gone unturned. The sixty three years spanning between us spread themselves out. He looked at me like a child, like I hadn’t put in enough time to really know the difference. He told me I would know, told me I would know when it found me.
Published by Erin Rose Belair
I am multi-genre writer specializing in travel, ad-copy, and nonfiction prose. A recent graduate with my MFA I am spending my new found time rambling around the world, practicing yoga, and searching for the best salad ever. View all posts by Erin Rose Belair