Saved by the Bell (54)

My neighbor has fallen in love. Before, we were two hermits living next door to each other. Today his sweetheart moved in. I’ve been glad for him from day one, for both of them, for this unexpected love. But now they sit talking only two handfuls of feet away from my window. Sometimes they talk for hours. Mostly I am able to let go of it, again and again, and be okay. Tonight I can’t let go. I just keep feeling intruded upon. It isn’t as though I can get away from them. This is where I live. I become desperate. I wonder if I will have to wear earplugs to do my work, to do my writing. I remind myself how much worse this could be, this intrusion. It could be loud music that rattles the walls of my trailer, music that feels 100 times worse than nails on chalkboard. (Banish the thought. Poof! Poof!) I could be listening to racist conversations or staunch Trump devotees. (Banish the thought. Poof! Poof!) I remind myself how much I like the two of them, truly like them. I remind myself of the sweetness in this, hearing them navigate their new love. I don’t hear words, mostly, only the tenor of things. Thoughtful, honest, getting to know each other conversations, bearing souls. My heart becomes gladder. Now I hear big raindrops on the trailer rooftops through the open sliding glass door. Everything eases. I come back to my senses with the smell of the rain. Their voices murmur now. I take a deep, full breath. I remember how lucky I am.