Ella Frances Sanders



Note: this is old, but important.

And so just like that I left again; more leaving and more staring down at mountains from 30,000 feet. It wasn't wrong but it wasn't right. I don't know the reasons why it was wrong, but they were there. I could feel them watching me as I failed to sleep night after night. I just didn't want her to know that I was unhappy there. Because I wasn't. She said not long ago that she wouldn't be able to support me emotionally and so I respected that,  I left. 

Maybe I'll go back; with him, with her, with you. Or maybe I won't and you'll have to visit me for a change. Stop being so damn far flung. Because I'll stop traipsing after you at some point — in case you hadn't noticed, I need to pay attention to life now. 

There are people to let down and people to pick up. Gently, of course, always gently. 

I don't wish to be somewhere else all the time — settled is quite alright for the meantime. Settled is in control and decisions and waking up without dread more than once in a blue moon. Settled is rising with the sun was working for 13 hours a day because I want to. 

Don't you see that those family ties are important? Don't you see that we are the closest thing you're gonna get to yourself? It took me until last night to realise that I'm the nearest to her, out of all of you — as it should be, as it changes and shifts. But don't worry, because someone will always be waiting at home for you. 

I don't know how long I've been looking down for — hours maybe? Years? I want to sleep but the caffeine that I didn't want stops me and now I'm writing on napkins. The horizon looks like many things: the end of life as I know it, people I haven't met, physics and all the places that lie just out of reach. It's asking me to read on, to keep turning the pages because it's not done blinding me yet. I forget things, as we all do. I forget numbers. I forget train times and pathways and patterns. But I rarely forget people, or faces, or moments — the places that contained them. I might be remembering them differently every time, but I won't forget; they look back at me with the light of a thousand suns. 

I'm seeing where blue meets white and where sea meets sky.

I'm nervous for the things that haven't happened yet and nostalgic for the ones that have. This combined with the sandwiches is making me feel slightly sick. Don't focus on that. Focus on the feeling of flight as you leap from one cliff edge to another. Focus on late afternoon light and swimming in the rain and spilt milk. Focus on anything other than the hands of the clock. Focus on the leaving feeling and how light you feel when you move towards the unknown and the unattempted. Focus on the paper filling up with words, the ones only you can read. I'll be waiting then, whether it is here or there or nowhere. Waiting for you to land, and to listen. Because people forget listening in this world of talking and instant and immediately.

It took me a while to realise that everything can be said in a silence.

So take care, but I'm going to carry on with my life now.

WritingElla Frances Sanders