Carried in the Hearts of Strangers

Waiting for Hurricane Dorian to pass, folding laundry, my mind wanders to the people in the Abaco Islands. I feel the lingering tightness in my chest — the kind that comes from the rush of preparing for something big, followed by the eerie stillness of waiting. I remind myself to be thankful. For us, this storm became more of an inconvenience than a disaster. But for the people of the Bahamas, it was devastating.

My thoughts curve, unexpectedly but not unusually, toward an old friend — an old love — who lives in Hope Town, where the storm made direct impact.

I thought about the email I sent him, letting him know I was thinking of him. Concerned.
His reply was simple: “Thank you.”
But I heard it in my head. “Thank you, April.”

It made me think about the feeling of being checked on.
Of being remembered.
Of someone saying: I care if you’re okay.

And then I thought of how my friends — even my mom — asked about him.
Not because they knew him.
But because they knew I loved him.
And they care about who I care about.

It made me wonder… how often are we thought about when we feel completely alone?
And would it even matter to know?

I’m always circling back to the nonsense of love and emotion.
How it doesn’t always make sense — how sometimes it’s not meant to.
I keep trying to assign logic to feelings, and then I remember:
Emotion doesn’t follow rules.
It just shows up.
Like a storm. Or a memory. Or a name whispered in your head.