Summer melancholy

July 6, 2012

She told me once that if she was going to be anything in life, it would the small wallflowers and the insignificant.  I think she told me in a slow, whispery dream that she would like to be the last drop of sun in a sunset; the silent tears no one ever knew about; a first kiss; a journal of memories typed into a cluttered heart; the drum of rain on the attic room; the key to an unknown lock; the song that was never born.  She said she didn’t really know why except that maybe that it was because her own life was such a jumble- it made the small things looks so much better.  Later though, her fingers went through my hair and she said softly- almost contentedly- that she was okay to just be me.  And I said okay.

Maybe it’s just the way life is.  It has to be, I guess, for it all to make sense.  Anything less than senseless would put us in chaos.  Some things just don’t get to make sense and it balances out with the sense we’ve got.  That’s how it is, will be… always was.  I’m not at all fond of that layout or never really have been- but I’ve come to accept it.  Life is just simply senseless.  But that’s better than plain old reality, and I guess it keeps life interesting and makes us stay on our toes.  That’s better than sense and boring.  Maybe we kind of like it that way.  The nice thing is that the senseless really clarifies the sense- makes ya believe what’s worth believing for- unless you’re so dead set on the sense and you only believe in that.  But even that- sense, that is- has to become senseless one way or the other.  This really wasn’t what I was going to say, but I think it’ll do.

Sorry for the ramblings...


  1. I had to re-read this because it is so rich and full. I enjoyed reading your ramblings, dear!

    1. Thank you SO so much, Emily for that. It means a lot :-)