In the midst of the bustling cityscape, I found myself navigating the same uneven pavements that mirrored the chaotic journey of my own life. College, once a beacon of opportunity, had transformed into a tough challenge. Balancing multiple jobs to fund my education, I felt the weight of my ambitions pressing down on me. Each step downhill seemed to echo the descent of my confidence, and the thought of dropping out haunted me, whispering of both defeat and possibility.

A bitter breeze chilled my face, signaling the approach of my nosy neighbor. Her sharp eyes seemed to follow my every move, eager for any opportunity to converse. The slight thought of her prying questions made my heart race. I decided to walk in the opposite direction, keeping my gaze fixed. Just in case, I shuffled to remove my hair tie, allowing my long hair to cover up my face. Hoping she wouldn’t recognize me. I would do anything to avoid the impending conversation.

I spotted the bench, as always, hiding in the shadows. It’s the perfect place to avoid being noticed. Nearby, a mother and daughter, I assume, matching each other’s strides, two pairs of eyes glistening, a relationship I envy. I focused on the way their hands had interlocked. A pang of bitter memories struck, as I curled my fingers into a fist. I caught the older woman smiling at me. Her eyes shone like sapphires. That simple smile was all it took to brighten my night. A small action that filled an empty spot in my heart. All that came out of me in exchange was a weary smile.

I knew the reason why a smile affected me greatly. It was impossible for me to miss the resemblance. Her livid eyes, rosy red cheeks, and heartwarming smile reminded me of her. My emotions shifted to negative memories. How can the most important person in my life become someone I care least about? Bitter memories stirred, my emotions tangling in lost love and regret.
I pulled out my notebook. The cover was ripped, the loose metal springs shaped into a heart. Words scribbled, torn papers, and tear stains were visible. Each scribble told a tale, and every tear had its own story—a story, a memory that will be part of me all my life. I pulled out my old pen, bite marks engraved into it. Old habits die hard. Desperate to escape, I poured my complex emotions into its pages, a secret journey known only to me.

“What are you doing out here all alone?”

I jumped, and the book and pen hit the floor with a soft thud. My heart was pounding too loudly. If I hadn’t known better, I would have thought the people around me could hear my heart racing. I glanced up to find the same woman that had smiled at me earlier. The woman had short brown hair, with a few white strands. She wore a skirt tall enough to lightly brush against the floor, plus a bright blue buttoned-down shirt with pretty pink flowers imprinted on it. I focused intensely on small details that shouldn’t matter or stick out to me. She seemed peaceful, like a dove soaring high in the bright sky on a warm morning. I realized she was alone now.

“Just clearing my mind.” was all I said, I didn’t want to open up to someone I barely knew.

She picked up my notebook from the ground, her eyes quickly skimmed one of the pages, her eyes didn’t show any emotion. I snatched it out of her small hands.

“Regrets, my dear, are like heavy luggage that we carry throughout our lives. Every minor or major mistake I made was a lesson and every missed opportunity opened the door to something unexpected. Regrets teach us humility as well as the importance of forgiveness, especially toward ourselves.”
My eyes widened, staring at her like she was an angel sent from heaven. When I didn’t respond, she shuffled through her purse, pulled out a small piece of laminated paper, and read aloud.
“Don’t concentrate on what was, instead, focus on things that you can change and let other things take their own course.” There was a long pause, then the woman let out a long, heavy sigh and continued to speak while holding eye contact with me. “Don’t regret knowing the people who came into your life. Good people give you happiness. Bad ones give you experience. The worst ones give you lessons and the best people give you memories.” A tear escaped the corner of my eye however, it wasn’t a tear of sadness. After she finished reading, she gave me the piece of paper. I was shocked, what a coincidence that it landed on a page that has been eating at me forever. The page that I had put much thought and emotion into. The one about mom. The woman’s words soothed me in an indescribable way.
A wink from her was what had ended this conversation.

I returned home and laid at the edge of my bed, my mind tracing the outlines of memories etched into the fabric of a tough relationship.
It is hard to believe I have once looked up to her, while she has nurses taking care of her, I have been lacking the support that is necessary.

I pulled out the quote the sweet woman had given me. I read it over and over again allowing its meaning to sink in. I kept fidgeting with it and realized words written on the back:
Psychologist Dr. Eleanor Burton as well as her phone number.

Amongst the tears that stain my cheeks, a glimmer of hope crosses my mind. My mind was like a constellation of concern, but not for long. A whisper that urges me to continue with my life and not focus on what once was.

But, even the darkest notes compose a melody of resilience.

Gripping my phone, my fingers trembling, I dialed the number.