Endings

Ever wondered how something wonderful feels like infinity for a bit? From friendships to a tummy full of food. Funnily, almost everything seems to await some kind of an end. I think that there are many endings in the process of the becoming of things or the making of our lives.

Maybe, just maybe I might be wrong. But I’m fine either way, I’ve still got to learn to live this either way. Although, I’d have a reason to cheer for lasting experiences. The loss of lasting experiences are symbolic of everything being an experience within itself, so perhaps I still have something to cheer about.

I wondered if the nature of how things ended had anything to do what feels like a fulfilling experience. I wondered if the inevitable good bye had anything to do with that. Or worse, it could be an unspoken farewell. Would that count as a loss? Would it still be a loss if I thought that there’s nothing that I sought in the first place?

Endings are experiences within themselves. If I didn’t have anything to look forward to as a result of this, I would always have a reason to look back and dwell for a bit. But again, this would give me reasons to look forward to other beginnings, because endings let us move on for starters.

It’s ironical to think that there wouldn’t be lasting experiences without endings. Endings lets us know what stays back. In that sense, I think that it’s these lasting experiences that finally matter.

Maybe I have reasons to lay back and have something to cheer about after all.

Prologue To Home

Places sometimes become symbolic of emotions. Emotions might simply be experiences in context. Emotions make us. Imagine if places in time are potentially everything about all of us, each in it’s own individuality. And maybe that’s why we find our own space our even ourselves in some place or in someone. A space or an experience that we could call our own is the epitome of what brings out the best in us. It allows us to let go and forget times when we probably had to compensate the lack of emotion with mere context.

The idea of having to feel probably has no value, but to put those feelings in perspective ascribes a great deal of value to them. This lets us put these things into perspective. This is where we (re)discover happiness. This has to do with finding sanity in absurdities, or more so to fall in love with them. We might just become them too. And so we would finally have memories that we can cherish. We finally have hope. This is where hope becomes home.

This is the start of everything wonderful to look forward to. This is an incentive to just be. There’s home to fall back on to. There’s home to pick you right up.

Home

Perhaps the idea of a home isn’t always a place that we’re born into. Perhaps it could be a place where we find ourselves and to not be told that we’ve been found. Home could be far away from a certain familiarity in the conventional sense of the term, yet is nevertheless reminiscent of our favorite feelings, or feelings we’ve long forgotten. It’s a wonderful place to finally be at.

Home is a place in time where one’s heart would slow dance in the gentle showers of the evening. The only place in time where words carry emotion and colourful images instead of simply a dry context. It’s the only place where meaning is felt and not simply implied. It’s the only place where every sound and colour is inviting of the deepest attention. It’s the only place where the softest sentiments blossom.

It’s a little gift to treasure. It’s the only place where you could be honest with yourself. It’s the only place wonderful enough to stay at, as long as memory is worth remembering.

The Only Thing Really

We’ve all waited for that one (and the only) thing really. It’s a special feeling and emotion we could fall back to. In essence, it is the only thing we could truly call ours. Sometimes this feeling is mutual. It’s one of those times when the notion of what could be “truly ours” means a lot more and is nicer simply because it’s shared. Time is an empty canvas. It’s these emotions that add the wonderful colors to the art we call experience. It’s our experience after all.

We’ve always seen it from afar. We only had to open ourselves to what was always ours. It’s hard to fully accept what might have been that special feeling. Perhaps it’s harder to fully realise that we’ve always had what we’ve wanted to feel and be but chose to ignore it because it’s easier. It’s easy to lie and it’s easier to lie to ourselves. But we never had to. There was never a reason to.

While the lies make it easy ignore what we’ve wanted to feel, truth nevertheless makes an appearance. It is never too late and that we’ll eventually learn about this special thing that was waiting to be called ours in every sense of the word.

Maybe I’d have known all about this. It’s funny how I didn’t without a notion of an ‘us’. I didn’t ask for this to be expressed and push me into a sense of vulnerability. A sense of vulnerability that I’m afraid of all by myself. It feels much lighter shared perhaps because it’s meant to be so. It’s as though this sense of vulnerability took me by my soul and sensibilities and led me to what was always mine. In some sense, this can’t be entirely mine. It’s shared. There’s a part of it that I know exists. But this exists far beyond my reach. It’s probably meant to be with another. It’ll be around though. This lovely thing, the only thing really.

This thing called love.

The only thing really.

Essentially Absurd

Impact, as it seems, is a hard hitting impression. At times it can be rather painful and violent enough to either shake sense into you or out of you. Regardless, it leaves you in a new place and at times with a new you. While that might not seem like an entirely bad deal, it can leave you feeling sorely reminiscent. Impression doesn’t really matter unless you’ve been punched in spirit, with a feeling that you’ve been mugged and had your heart stolen.

Oddities has ways of playing strange games. I guess that the idea of something being odd does open a lot of new admiration sometimes. A figure in time could be oddly stunning. I might be left with asking myself “How even?” with the most confused expressions. There is something in this that shatters our notions of what we’re told is perfect. We come across our favorite disagreement for a little time at least. It’s incredible what absurdities can do to you. It’s a wonderful feeling because these absurdities aren’t yours. They’re right across you, beside you, by your corner and it’s the apple of your eye.

It’s those wonderful sights and sounds. They really do get you in a twist and leave you for a loss of words. Everything sure does have its moments. The point of absurdities is that we fall in love with even the mundane and what we take for granted. There’s always a reason to celebrate, or at least you hoped for one! You could be a little terrified or disgusted with a few things here and there, but it only makes everything so much more colorful. There was quite literally a universe to see here. If acceptance, admiration and love had a sound and a voice, you’ve finally heard it.

To be in awe of absurdities is to be in love. To be in love is essentially absurd. But we could all do with a little absurd, time and again, to be shown our place in time and space. To be in awe of the absurd to realize your own little sensibilities. There’s always a special something.

Impact, as it seems, is a hard hitting impression. Unfortunately it can be a long lasting  too.

It’s incredible what absurdities can do to you. It’s a tragedy because it’ll be yours to be with. They’re right across you, beside you, by your corner but never will they be with you.

Being Let Go

The hardest times are the times when we realize that we don’t have a place in the space and time of something else. We’d wish that it could be an extension of us but it isn’t and perhaps was never meant to be. I guess it’s a lot worse when we do have the pleasure to be one with that space in a time that is too short. “And just like that” I’d think to myself and we all probably do when everything closes so quickly. It’s unnerving when things close without a closure, without making sense, if I may.

Maybe it isn’t about letting go. It’s about being let go. We partook in this and made this. Substance out of emotion that filled the space and void, made sense of with time. We connect. We become what we make, a close but distorted reflection. Despite the reflection, we chose to not distinguish the difference, effectively becoming that substance that’s held together and broken by time. The reflection would never hold us back, yet the fear of something we could safely perceive made stepping away uncomfortable.

The problem with time was that it helped make sense, it gave meaning and depth. It had to be painfully short or painfully long. Either way, it could be damaging. This realization at the eleventh hour wasn’t comforting. But it shouldn’t matter. We were here for all that time to be a part of something perhaps timeless and precious. We’ll be here again, sometime or another time, but surely, we’ll be here. Maybe not in experience but in essence at least.

We’ll be let go off, again.

Present

It isn’t new to resent the past. But it’s always a new experience to get used to the present after a considerable deal of resentment. Often, this experience is terrible till we have a good enough reason to resent this one also. Painfully endless, isn’t it? After quite an episode, it’s best to pretend that nothing ever really happened. True, in some sense, nothing ever really happened. At least in the sense that the essence is still the same. It’s awful. The same essence is recycled and reused over and over again in different packaging we call experience.

Imagination saves us some of the pain, I might add. We surround ourselves with memories that were the least painful, or potentially at least. They take away the dread of the present. They bring a tear and a smile at times. For a while it feels wonderful to not have to think too much. There is at least this to fall back to, if not anybody or anything else. This on the other hand has a potential to bring the present down harder on us. There was never a worse time to never feel a sense of belonging anywhere with anyone.

The present is the essentially the past with a lot of potential to unfold itself and repeat itself again in essence. The present reminds us that we are and will be perpetually alone. Our past is all we’ve ever had and the present is all that will ever be with us and they are only ours. Sometimes the most personal things are the ones that damage the most. The damage too, is personal.

It’ll take a little getting used to and we will get used to it. We look forward to reliving the same essence everyday. There’s something intimate about it. There’s something special about it. It’s the only thing that’s ours. It’s a painful parent and a child at the same time. But it’s ours. It’s an extension of that which made us and that will make us. The status quo will, in essence, stay for the longest time. It’ll only be expressed differently and perhaps in a nicer way.

The essence of an experience and the present, however new, will always feel familiar. We’ve known it for the longest of times. We never had an excuse to check up on it. Experience is our excuse, and has always been so.