I think it's happened maybe twice in my life that I've gone back and read something I've previously written, and actually liked it. One was a short story about a flying squirrel named fudge (yes, Fudge the Flying Squirrel). Another was another short story, about a guy seeing a girl running from something - but that doesn't really count, as that was only half finished- and I've yet to actually finish it.
But tonight, I was feeling depressed - and therefore, creative - so I decided to write something new in all 3 blogs I currently have: here, the one linked to from here, and an ancient, decrepit myspace. I did the one here, and the one at the other place - but then I went to myspace, saw a post I did not recognize, read it, and decided that should stay as the top one for now. I remembered what I was writing about - a love so true it can only be experienced by a child - and it made me feel like whatever I'm feeling now is completely inconsequential. I actually kind of liked it. So this is that. Well, what follows this is that, I should say. This is not actually that. NOW this is that:
"A man's work is nothing but this slow trek to rediscover, through the detours of art, those two or three great and simple images in whose presence his heart first opened." --- Albert Camus
A smile.
I remember a smile.
I have been happy, gloriously, unflinchingly happy. Without regret or remorse. Without doubt or introspection.
Living in the moment, existing for the only thing that truly exists - right now.
The first image - an innocent smile. A smile given freely, without expectation of reciprocation. A smile given without thought, but with cause. A smile memorized, seen only in the depths of dreams - too fragile for consciousness.
Seen through the rear window of a moving vehicle, seen disappearing into the quickly disappearing dusk.
A smile as haunting as it was beautiful.
And so long ago, it can only exist in the vaguest of memories.
and after reading that - and the quote that is included therein - i guess that's what everyone who writes does. We just try to capture those two or three beautiful moments in our lives, and share them with the world.
I promise, I'll try to do a better job of it. You, and those memories, deserve better than my feeble follies.
1 comment:
i for one think the world needs writers, and that is what you are. i really don't like poetry. i really love your poetry. and every time you cite a quote it sticks with me, it seems you always discover the meaningful ones.
that is all. keep the word flow.
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