I once knew this girl...or thought that I did.
Her name was Issa and she had problems. She never felt love. She ran away. She hid everything from us and betrayed us. When the truth came out, it was like being stabbed in the gut and having a bag taken off your head.
Last time we talked, our conversation was strained. She said to me, “There's too much goin' on about here. I've been thinkin' about goin' away.”
Looking back, I was indifferent to her plight. “Yeah? Where to?”
“San Francisco. There's gotta be sumthin' out there. Sumthin' that ain't complicated.”
I remember how fragile she looked at that moment. The snowflakes clustered and rested on her head. The smoke she was inhaling and exhaling from her bent cancer stick – swirled out and up, up, up, up towards the dark sky.
“It sounds like you're searching for something.”
“I am.”
It was left unspoken, but I knew. She once told me that she had always felt like a lost cause. She was searching for redemption.
I could have told her that you can't find redemption. You discover it after many trails. You discover it after you learn to forgive yourself for being imperfect.
I could have told her many things, but she probably wouldn't of listened to me.
“Good luck,” was my only reply.
