If you feel like an earful of erratic eclectic melodies while you read, you can listen to this here.
Some of the prettiest songs I've heard since take-off 79 odd sleeps ago.
Some of the prettiest songs I've heard since take-off 79 odd sleeps ago.
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I don't know whether you need to experience true discomfort to know what that you've probably been living in the closest thing to a cloud all along. Perspective is ambiguous, an endless debate - like living in the present. I don't like this concept of "being present" that seems to be somewhat en vogue, as of late. When I'm present I lose track of what's really real reality, because when I'm inside the moment I'm trapped deep in my head, drowning in whatever emotion happens to be heightened at the minute. Fear, ecstasy, introversion, euphoria, tragedy -------- it washes over me like a wave and suddenly I'm soaking in my own sentiment and forget what is wonderful or wicked. I forget my cats and my beautiful sister and my autumn-coloured jeans that fit like a glove. Leave me in the intersection where you can wear a sweater if you feel like it but if you forget to grab one as you walk out the door, it doesn't matter. Leave me in a café with a half-finished latte and a notebook with a few blank pages left. Leave me in the sky where you're not sad about take-off anymore and you're not yet excited about landing.
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In the end you'll write the best stories about how you felt, not what you did. Harlequin adjectives will decorate your journal and make you smile when you read your words days or weeks or years later. You won't need images when they might not come close to matching the rainbow memories in your mind. I don't know. What am I really trying to say here? I want to tell my great-grandchildren about my pursuit of happiness and the butterflies and the time I had a really perfect playdate with somebody somewhere at sometime and that feeling of accomplishment and the time everything fell into place. Can you find dreams? Or do you have to make them with your hands and your head?
It's not that the ache skips the door to my heart when she does her rounds, it's just that I don't let her haunt me any longer than she has to, and I do my best to show her the way out when she comes to visit. I can't remember how it goes exactly, but it's something like we spend our whole lives searching for the perfect place to stay forever but that consistency we crave only comes through movement. That's not quite right, but it's a bit like that. I'll rearrange the words and cut and paste a little when it comes to me.
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(by s)
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