My head lowered to the cement ground, and my newly cut bangs fell in front of my face. I brushed them away and allowed my eyes to dart back and forth catching glimpses of metallic rocks embedded in the pavement. I let them go from the end of the parking space all the way to the handicap sign painted in front of my feet. For some reason I thought I could decode a message the shapes in the ground were making--the oil splatter to the left, leading to the cigarette butts on the right. They were saying, "Let your mind race, but your body move slow."
My body answered back with the slowest moving limbs. I could feel a lazy mass creep from my fingertips to my shoulders. It traveled up the bones in my neck to the base of my skull. I let it slide over my brain, sending signals to my eyelids and I could feel each one of them shut over my eyes.
I thought about how lucky I am and how sad I felt sometimes. I could feel my legs sensing the confusion, and I could hear my heart warning me about what may lie ahead. And I felt pure happiness yesterday afternoon sitting in my car, but I couldn't tell if it was from the warmth of the seat belt that fit snug across my lap or the anticipation of holding hands with my best friend. I let myself believe it was both. It all felt so right that I kept double-looking both ways when I crossed the street; it was in fear that it could be easily taken away from me.
No one ever tells you about the anxiety that follows the feeling of happiness.