The Sky Saved Me

In times that I feel like I’m stuck in a hole, often one that I dug myself in, I can’t do anything but look up and analyze the sky. The grey foggy sky in the winter, a mix of pollution and rain mist. The blue sky in the summer, with invisible humidity coating the air as if it were a wet towel at the spa. The almost white sky in the fall, complemented by the auburn leaves and decision of sweatshirts or hoodies. The partly clouded sky in the spring, a liminal space for both the weather and for myself, both sneezing at the flowers while admiring them, admitting that they are the most beautiful thing I have come across in a while. 

The sky is all I can see out of the bottom of the hole. My only choice is to appreciate something that has been there my entire life and will be there long after I am gone. I find myself picking apart the details– how laughter lingers outside longer when it’s warmer, how soothing hot chocolate feels when the cold has seeped into every crevice of my soul, how fog is poetic even though, in my eyes, it looks closer and closer to the end of the world.

When did surviving become such a state that my lifeline became a matter of nature? Why doesn’t getting a “good job” on my college essay blossom that feeling in my chest anymore? Why did I start seeking out every possible medical explanation to my eternal exhaustion when the answer was right in front of me? Why did I have to start relying on the one thing I couldn’t control to make me happy? 

I started to feel like misery was a festering wound: bound to burst at any moment. That anticipation weighed on me harder than anything else– what would trigger its eventual explosion? Why can’t I do anything to stop its eventual burst? I know that curiosity killed the cat, so why can’t I stop questioning every bound of my being? 

All these questions formed themselves into a long answer response test. A test to prove that in a sea of things out of my control, I was still able to swim to shore. Even though I can’t choose how many times it snows this year or for the sun to beat down until I can’t see, I can choose my perception of such. The sky is a constant in my life, and in times of loss, familiarity feels like a kiss on the forehead. 

I won’t feel like this forever. 

And after this is over,

I’ll be able to find the beauty in things the sky gave light to.