Those Lonely Streets by Juliet Rose (brene brown rising strong .txt) 📕

The Scene of Somewhere

The Seattle rain hadn’t stopped for weeks. Dark, menacing clouds were constantly covering the heads of the people below. Sixty suicides were reported this month; but I didn’t blame the rain. The rain was my friend; the only element that kept me sane. It was my favorite show to watch from my tiny bedroom window. There I would sit for hours at a time, forgetting my previous plans, to watch the gentle drops glide across the slick glass. It reminded me of a symphony, complete with its own instruments, crescendos, and pitches. I heard them all. Against the gutters, the pitch was high and resounding, echoing through the silver tunnels with each pound. Against the windows, it was harsh and lurid, but rolled swiftly down to the nets of objects below. Against the cool ground, the rain was gentle, tenderly meeting the throngs of puddles with a soft, pleasurable, plop

. The symphony grew louder as it reached the climax of its tune, pounding each instrument with twice as much force. Suddenly, a violent crash of cymbals broke the tense air, touching some far of place with its golden branches. I wished to myself that I could catch these golden cymbals, save them in a jar maybe, to use their brilliant light for the immeasurable amount of gloomy days ahead.
A slow roll of drums interrupted my thoughts, remaining strong for an entire thirty seconds. The drums’ pace quickened, its sound growing louder and more intense with each second that passed. Eventually, I heard the drums scream their last breath before settling into a quiet hum, then vanishing completely. The sweet rain was teasing me, laughing at the roof above my head. It threatened to strip me of this coverage, just during the times it came to visit. In answer to this mockery, I whispered back that, I would be forever grateful

.
I then asked the rain to do with me what it willed; to drench me, to dance with me, to render me senseless. I wished it to fill me up until I overflowed with its radiance. I watched motionlessly as these secret wishes drifted out to meet the cold embrace of the storm.
The clock in my kitchen read 3:24am. Though I wished it, sleep was no longer an option. My mind had lost itself in the thoughts of somewhere. This somewhere was far, far away, and I knew my mind wouldn’t plan on returning any time soon. And so I let it roam.
In this somewhere, I imagined a clear, rainless sky. This sky, however, resembled no sky I had ever laid eyes upon. This new sky was brushed with a shimmering pallet of blues and greens, oranges and purples, soft pinks, and deep, deep reds. I also noticed one curious color that I could not seem to identify; but without it, this sky would not be nearly as striking.
In this somewhere, I saw a vast distance, interrupted only once by a distant tree. Even from far away, this sapling appeared to be very corrupted and malnourished. As I ambled closer, I noticed a little stream to the right of the distressed mass of tree. Its slimmed, hungry roots were pouring out of the broken ground and dangling over the stream, as if to form a bridge. No wonder the tree looks so poor

, I thought, it can’t reach its main source of survival.

The dreadful scene looked as though the stubborn water had created a protective barrier, in order to shield it from all who wished to enter. By doing this, it was killing the tree. Watching it die, even.
The humble tree loved the water desperately, it needed the water for its own survival. But the water was repulsed by the tree’s roots, and therefore cast them away. I felt sympathy for this poor tree, lingering on the border between life and death when its ticket to life existed so remarkably close. No matter how desperately it struggled, its sullen roots would always come up short.
This shouldn’t be. It wasn’t.. right.
With an airy glide, I closed the distance between me and the scene of the tree. With a sudden heavy weight, I crashed down on my knees so that I was eye level with the sickly roots. I felt a terrible sorrow for the tree as I observed the sight up close. It was frustrating, and I became angry with the selfish water. Could it not share even a drop of its clear liquid? I glared at its miraculous transparency with accusing eyes; no reflection stared back at me. I thrust a hand into the icy stream, breaking the surface with a severe splash. I cupped the liquid into my palm and brought it out into the open, examining its strange, elusive glow. Reaching forward, I positioned the hand full of liquid so that it hung directly over the tree’s distorted, colorless roots. Then, with a focused glare, I released the stream’s contents and watched anxiously as they fell.
One by one, the nourishing drops hit the surface of the famished branches, making an angelic sound of chimes before they sunk in.
Where the drops made contact, a rejuvenation occurred.
The tree was growing stronger.
My eyes widened with pleasure and surprise as I frantically scooped handful after handful onto the budding tree. If I worked long enough, I could manage to shower the entire tree with the stream’s contents. I pressed on. But after a while into my task, I began to think.
What would happen when it was time for me to leave? Would the tree and the water continue their terrible one sided friendship?
I refocused my eyes in order to stare at its still dangling roots, holding onto nothing but air.
Yes, when I left, the tree would surely die.
My narrowed eyes glared angrily at the arduous water. Why did it have to be so difficult?
With an fiery determination, I grabbed every single root from the air above, and held them in a tight bundle close to my chest. I shuffled my feet quickly forward until I felt them engulfed by the icy stream’s waters. Then, unwaveringly, I lay down, so that all of me was covered, forcing the roots and the waters to meet. After I was sure they would not retreat, I loosened my grasp to bury the tips of each one into the firm, clay bottom. I did this with such precision and care, that I knew they could never be unearthed by the stream’s will alone. When my task was complete, I stepped backwards onto the dry shore, my eyes never leaving the scene.
All at once, the tree rose to life, untangling its mangled roots from each other one by one. The new, thick roots grew longer as the tree grew higher and stronger than ever before. It did not stop its growth when it seemed to surpass even the sky itself. Lustrous leaves adorned the once broken branches, filling every open space with their overwhelming abundance. I watched speechlessly as I noticed a color flourishing deeply throughout its newly formed limbs, giving the tree its final touch of absolute beauty; it was the same color that had been present in this mysterious sky. This color had never been seen by a pair of earthly eyes in all of its existence, for it was often taken away too soon for the true color to settle into focus. It was the color of earth on the first day of its creation. It was the color of laughter and of ideas, and of hopes and dreams. It was the color granted only by one.

It was the color of life.

The Drowning

I feel the restraint that comes with the freedom. I try to ignore it, hoping it will vanish; but it does not. Its awesome presence grabs me and throws me back into failure, the failure I had just barely climbed out of.
I am submerged… drowning.
I can sense the freedom I once grasped hovering along the surface above me, just out of reach. My lungs cannot hold the air much longer. They grow weary and long to be free of this iron cage. I sink deeper, losing hope.
Above the surface there appears a shimmering figure, blurred from my view by the crashing waves. Take my hand

, it seems to say. I’m not convinced. I continue to slip farther into silence. Trust me

, it whispers.
The voice is familiar, a voice I had heard many times before. A voice I had loved to hear. A voice who had, indeed, saved me before. I remembered this voice.
A hand stretched out towards me, begging me to take it. I thought about this, evaluating the task. But my mind was made up. I knew this voice; I loved this voice. I cast my hand up to meet the others embrace, and with one fierce wrench of my arm, I sent my rescuer plummeting into the waves. Without so much as a thought, the figure wrapped my frail form in his gentle arms and began to carry us both to the surface. I struggled against his weight and aimed for the bottom of the pool that lead to nowhere. I made it very clear that my fate was sealed, that he could not possibly save me again. Yet he continued for the top, striving towards the freedom that still lingered there. I screamed violently in protest. I knew deep down that he could save me, if I just allowed him to. If I was willing to submit, I could be carried away from this mess of drowning and never return again… If I was willing

. I did not deserve to have the will to be willing. I knew this. And I accepted it with the direction of my fate. Downwards. I swam, dragging the shimmering voice with me. The farther I whirled into the pool, the darker the waters, and the heavier the weight upon my shoulders. I grew weary from the exhaustion, and fear welled up inside of me from the darkness that was closing in all around. My pace slowed, but I continued to swim.
I turned to glance behind at my past, but saw nothing besides the cold obscurity of nightfall. By now I could no longer see the surface that I had once called home, and the weight upon me had grown almost unbearable. In this realization, I stopped, fear overtaking my soul. I glanced around frantically at the blackness that never faltered. And I felt afraid.
Then, a faint voice echoed softly from the shadows.
Take my hand

, it invited, with the same gentleness as before. I turned slightly to search for the voice’s source. Trust me, it whispered again. I did not understand. But the voice shone brilliantly, the only light against the pitch black scene. I had carried him with me all this time; the voice of light had never left my grasp. Despite the deepness