Tuesday, November 1, 2011

soul meets body.

Early, I became a pro at blowing bubbles when I would wash my hands.
Index finger smugly on my thumb, soapy net suspended in the opening, gentle breath and quick movement of my hand to close it off. A ritual of sorts.

And that was beautiful.
I mostly think that because I was young and innocent and didn't have an obligation to anything for that minute of my life I spent blowing bubbles. And the time was beautiful. And the pride was beautiful.
But now, instead of smiling at myself in the mirror because I had perfected my art, I sit here. I sit here typing this story, in a moment that I'll never remember because it has little significance to my person. And I won't remember that Hallelujah as by Elisa is playing in the background because my time is now compact and not strung out into oblivion.

Perhaps in the 10 years or so that it takes me to remember days like today, like everyday of my today, I'll think of your smile. I'll probably smile too. And maybe, just maybe, I'll be able to find a truth about life that I learned while dancing in the palm of your hand.

Although, then, I'll know everything about nothing, just like I do today, I will think that what I am thinking actually means something as a whole and will effect people, it will only reach a handful in my lifetime. My life will only truly have effected the reality of very few.


And, for me, that makes those people mean the world.

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