holy moment

Half of us barefoot, a cactus in my hand, and a gelatinous candy being placed in my mouth. I saw people I felt incredibly comfortable with, able to say anything to and hear anything from, and not able to be taken for granted. The effect of outright declaring holiness to my friend extended beyond long after and before itself, categorizing the event as a Coming of Age-film style defining moment for the end of high school, even though an insurmountable load of writing to do is likely more accurate. In that holy moment, a backlog of work didn’t really matter. I was consumed by emotion from the beauty of knowing people. All good emotions, certainly able to make me tear up or laugh hard, or both.

The afterglow of this continued to the following day, when I, without knowing any details of it, joined Adrienne on her class trip to the Break Free march in Anacortes, followed by a euphoric picnic in Deception Pass, drive down Whidbey Island, and a broken down car at the ferry loading dock. Throughout all of that, I felt completely in sync with the moment, comfortable, and with none of the usual anxieties of life. It was real.

Yet, maybe my brain, in search for a reflection to write, is romanticizing? Could the spirituality have been concocted by my brain after the chronological fact? If so, does that even matter?

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