My Dear Tuesday


A friend of mine a few weeks back mentioned he’d written for something called the Dear Tuesday Project. I took a look at the website and was really touched by the honesty and varying emotions in the entries I read.

I rcently posted a piece from @guy_interrupted‘s blog which really struck a chord with me and inspired me to contribute myself, so I contacted the lovely @originalsteve who had set up the site.

I’ve written quite frankly before, but I was slightly nervous about sharing it outside of my comfort blog. I was also very anxious about what to write about. What if it turns out to be a really boring day!

Coincidently the Tuesday I was asked to write about turned out to be a very important day.

Tuesday 26th October 2010

I’ve seen you before Tuesday. I think you were a Sunday. Or maybe you were dressed in Monday’s clothing. But it was definitely you Tuesday.

I knew it was you, because I woke up very aware that it was one of those mixed mornings. You know, when it’s cold but blindingly bright, crisp yet with frosty kisses on my fingers tips. It was for this reason I fancied the walk into town.

I knew it was you, Tuesday, because I was off to meet him again, and have the same bittersweet conversation that the icy weather was having on my naked hands. Each pinch of the cold left a warm after taste upon my skin, it made me feel alive and strangely grateful to see him one last time.

As we sipped our coffee, the water a bit too hot still, the burning sensation helped me swallow the realisation that this would probably be it. It opened my eyes as the caffeine rushed though my veins and woke me up. It made me face up to and burn this morning into my memory.

We hadn’t seen each other for a few months. It had been a bit too awkward. The summer had been ours to enjoy separately as a warm up to the knowledge that we were now due to be on different pages of our passport.

As expected the toasty butterflies migrated back to my tummy and the spark in his eyes fuelled my smile. The air was filled with embers of remembrance.

When we parted, we said goodbye, again, and made all the promises to keep in touch. It was nice to be able to close his chapter mutually and honestly. I’ll probably never get the chance to speak to him again. He was off to warmer climates.

On the walk home, I took off my leather jacket. The clear blue sky shone brighter now and the winds had changed. Your chill, Tuesday, had parted allowing me to use everything you’d taught me this morning to realise, in fact, how lucky I am.

He’d been the first one, since the first one, who ignited something within me. Knowing that the fire can be relit is a great comfort.

I learnt so much from his warmth, as he thawed my heart. I now know I won’t be out alone in the cold as I once feared. He allowed me to look forward to next Tuesday and the Tuesday after and all the Tuesdays after that. He always looked further out onto the horizon than me, and his leaving has now helped me see all the way into the sun set.

And you know what Tuesday, it’s beautiful.

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