2005-02-23
Watermark
We all have pasts--I've always known that. I've spent so much time recovering what was once lost, and desperately searching through the dried forest leaves trying to find something.
And we don't realize that that one small bit is trivial compared to what's in front of us. I may have noticed that this year.
I have...spent hours looking at the silent ripples in my fish pond. The gentle, placid undulations can be caressed by the palms of our hands.
There are moments in the late dusk when one looks in the mirror, and the yolk-sun strikes your face. I recalled my afternoons in the playground with sand underneath my fingernails and R.L. Stein in my backpack. Ripples grow and stretch throughout the cold, black pond...but their cores are timeless.
The sun hits my face and I'm ten years old again: with my heart fresh and free. Before the scarring. Before the worries. Before even brushing off the last layer of dust from the solid-glass images of the person I'll someday become.
Everyday, I awake in the same bed and covered by crisp sheets. I look at the wooden pillars on each bed-corner. The core trembles--it's frightening to know how deeply one is in love.
Not often pondered, yet everyday felt.
Like cold kisses and soft embraces...