Birds flying high
You know how I feel
Sun in the sky
You know how I feel
Reeds driftin' on by
You know how I feel
It's a new dawn
It's a new day
It's a new life
For me



So I sat there on my bed, waiting for the wave of guilt to crash down on me. And I sat for another few minutes, and sat... and nothing happened. In fact, I felt about a million pounds lighter, and I breathed as I sat there still silently expecting the residue of it all to creep back into my skin and humble me. But nope, nothing.

Whoever said breaking up is hard to do was an idiot. And possibly a singer.

Well, maybe it’s only easy if you are a drifter like me. See cause drifters, like me, don’t really get “in” relationships in the first place. I mean sure, all the signs are there, the visits, the movie going: whatever it is people in real-ationships do, however, the drifter rarely commits oneself fully. For the drifter, I mean err... me, to settle down one solitary significant other must have all the qualities of ten significant others, and be supportive of the drifter’s wandering nature. For this soul, love alone will never be enough. It must always search and find perfection in the total aspect of life.

So I finally answered the phone. On the end was an angry, explosive, guilt-dishing man hoping to save a non-existent real-ationship. What he would find is a blunt, relaxed, half asleep woman who had already been liberated from such spells, who had already found salvation in the kindness of strangers.

See because there I was, bitching, discussing the latest of voicemail messages designed to make me feel like a monster, humble myself and walk back into the trap. After hearing all this, “Erica, where are you? What is going on? What is your problem? I’m concerned about you. You need to quit playing and call me. You know you are wrong....”, instead of feeling guilty I got selfish. I got angry. After all, since when is living your own life such a crime? I am really good at it: playing the loving and faithful companion. I am really good at giving him and all the others whatever it is they want, seldom a selfish moment when I ask for something of my own. But if I give everything else, why shouldn’t my hours be mine to distribute? Shouldn’t my time, at least, belong to me? Actually you know what, that is not up for debate. I need my own time. Sometimes. And that’s it.

Let’s get back to the point. There I was, bitching, and in through the door walks an angel. It had to be an angel because the timing and delivery was so perfect, and I have always believed that irony is at God’s disposal. And there he was, white sweater draping over his jeans, totally oblivious as to how he was being used at that moment, about how he would, in ten minutes, change my entire life. And then he showered me with joy, with happiness and strength in the form of game board pieces with pictures of my smile. He laid out friendship right there on the table in front of me, in the form of personalized monopoly squares and Shop for Peace currency. He gave me a tangible love in the form of little Monkey Besos, an inspiration and hope that could only be attained by the memory of doing the Cha-Cha under the moonlight. Inspiration. Hope for something better. Faith that something better does exist. Exactly. I found faith in Eric.

And all I could do is stand there, laughter and tears spilling out me organically, from somewhere really down deep. I felt as if it was the ultimate catharsis, and as emotion poured out of me like a river I couldn’t say anything. Well anything except, “Eric, you have no idea.” I fell into his arms, and my mascara ran down his white shirt, and I felt so impulsive, and so alive. Something that had been missing for a long time. I wanted to run off and feed a village, or have a passionate love affair, or... whatever. I just felt alive.

So I answered my phone. I answered the questions that needed to be answered. I wiped my hands clean and am ready to start anew. If you ask me, it must have been the neatest breakup on the face on the planet. Because I wasn’t holding on, lingering there, afraid that if I left, or if he left or we parted, that nothing else would fulfill me. Or fulfill him. No wave of guilt attacked me, I didn’t even really explain everything to him. Cause maybe if I let him go, he will find his very own faith. And see that doesn’t make me feel guilty at all, it makes me smile.