What I Hope to Leave Behind

If I were to say that the green of the trees’ leaves was shimmering like so many emerald stones, and that the sounds of the native birds calling to each other was as if to them the morning newly arrived was the apotheosis of their existence, would you then hate me entirely if I were to admit to the scowl creasing my features, to the dour look in my eyes and to the discontent I’m feeling in the pit of my stomach? If your answer is not a resolute affirmative, but is, at least, a genuine concern regarding such a juxtaposition, then I would delightedly extend my hand for yours and humbly beg your forgiveness, for I too am not one to skulk in dark corners when the music of the day is at full pitch and all creatures are taking part in the dance of life. How wonderful it would be if I could step to and tap out my own rhythm to contribute to the chaotic yet melodious symphony. Alas, today I cannot. I really can’t. The heart that makes its presence known through passion of movement would not be behind my own on this most cornucopic day of energetic penance. This because… well … I’d rather not say, so as not to bring you down to what I feel. Suffice it to say that sad things do happen despite the beauty and majesty of the world. Why that is, I’m not entirely sure—surely some of the sadness need not occur at all. Mine, however, did, and my spirit is tempered simply because I loved as much as it was in my capacity to at a time I knew it to be misplaced and ultimately transient. Perhaps that means sad things occur in this world because we know of the goodness it holds, and we wish for it to last. Otherwise, in a world without goodness, no one would bother thinking about loss, as I do now. And though the key to a healthy mind is to not dwell too long on sadness, for a time I must, so that I may never forget the beauty and passion I experienced; so I may stoke the kindling of hope and reignite the fire in my chest and once more become ready to love and live again. I’ve seen too much of the world not to have hope. 

It was a night I fell in love with. Last night in fact. It was a night spent on narrow cobblestone streets, where soft white and orange light delicately touched upon bright eyes and open smiles, and philosophies were shared over drinks and under a black strip of the starry night sky framed by terrace balustrades and the eaves-troughs of an alleyway’s buildings. And, under the promise of the sun on this morning after, all I can think about is how I wish I had laid just one of the sheltering stones which gave form to those buildings, so as to indirectly contribute to such communion, for the apartments and shops which lined the alley were old and undoubtedly witness to many days and nights as rich as the one just passed. 

I suppose, and to conclude, all I really want to say is this: although I know tomorrow or today may take me wherever, I will always remember that there is nothing more a person need hope to leave behind, but a brick in an alley such as that, in this life.

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