Symbolism

 

“Tell me if this is weird,” I said to Milks one warm afternoon as we talked on the front lawn.

She’s my kindred spirit, after all. Whom else could I trust for an honest answer?

“Shoot.”

I rolled my body over the soft fleece material of the blanket we were lounging on and stared up at the sky.

“Do you feel like you’re a deep thinker? Like, more so than other people?”

“Sometimes, why?”

“I don’t know. I feel like I think about things too much. I’m always trying to figure myself out.”

She nodded and said, “I do that too.”

“But really, I am always having like, personal revelations. And thinking.”

“Revelations about what?”

Then I gave it to her, the thoughts that have been formulating in my brain. Me, really, and the things I seem to constantly be learning about myself.

How this year I am feeling more confident and more comfortable with who I am as a person, and why I believe that is. Spiritual things about what I believe God wants for my life, and the path I see Him leading me down. Future things, like what to do with my summer. Internships, counseling, Africa, missions?

That’s the wonderful thing about my Milks. She listens, she hears, she advises, and when it’s all over, when the seriousness of conversation is weighing heavy, she begs for my famous Fake Laugh. Which she receives, because hello, did you read the topics I bogged her down with?

It’s give and take, though, because then I listened to her deep thoughts. (And tweeted, because my multitasking skills are out of this earthly realm.)

In the end, she never gave me a yes or no answer.

She simply helped me fold the blanket and zip it away in her backpack.

 

 

I am and did I use 'whom’ correctly? I haven’t a clue.

 

p.s. Have you met Milks? We’re silly. Introducing: