Philosophy Prose

Perfect Moments In Memory Glass

This is about love.

I watched this movie on Netflix called The Map of Tiny Perfect Things, and it was amazing. Hit me right in the feels. At the end, it was talking about perfect moments, and I realized that I wrote a poem about perfect moments for my middle brother’s wedding – read it during the ceremony, in fact. It’s this:

Eternal Matrimony

I don’t care that you’re running
I know you’re not running away
I don’t mind the mountains you climb
I know you’re not just with me ‘because I’m there’
I don’t mind if you look at another
I know you’re thinking of me
I don’t worry when you’re gone
I know you walk beside me
I don’t care that I may never get everything I want
You are all I need
I’m not upset by the raging river of differences between us
The stepping stones of perfect moments bring me to you
I don’t worry about your past
It brought you to me, and us to this perfect moment
And from this perfect moment to the next
Though our lips part, still we kiss
Though our hands let go, still we touch
Though our eyes close, still we see one another
Though our voices are raised, still we whisper
Of perfect moments and perfect love

In the middle of the movie somewhere, she said she’d only be friends. He wanted more. Unrequited love. And I realized that the moment before it became manifest, the love he felt – the love I feel for someone – is a perfect one. It’s like love is a baseball that can be thrown around and used to play fun games, but the minute it’s unrequited it is like a baseball signed by a World Series winning team. Sure, you worship it, cherish it, look at it from every facet, but you never touch it again, for fear of diminishing its value.

Some perfect moments need to be felt by feeling the feeling of remembering the perfect moment, rather than feeling the moment itself. I’m afraid that reliving the moment itself will eventually make that moment like any moment, one of many, a drop in the ocean, a raindrop in the sky.

A raindrop falling from the vast sky into the vast ocean.

Instead of that one raindrop that causes me and the person I love to smile and laugh and run like crazy for shelter from the storm that just started, and then watching it and listening to each drop, none of them like that first one.

Sometimes an entire person is encased in memory-glass. You can’t go back, you know. You can only remember.

Philosophy Prose

The Coldness Of Dropping Into A Relaxed State

It removes me. Drives the world away for a while, and puts me into my own world. I learned it is better to envision than to replicate. Better to imagine and create from that.

It’s death and life. It’s between. To express a vision. To change an image. My version.


It’s Never A Dead End When You Have A Machete

You say your words aren’t about me. I know that. They were never about me. They were always about you. I walked upright once that wind stopped.

I made my wishes out loud. That’s why they didn’t come true. Not because wishing out loud makes things not come true, but because you heard me and ignored me and feigned ignorance. I knew what you were doing, and I know what you did. They say exercise adds years to your life, but that’s not a math problem. Don’t get mad when the tiger escapes your circus.

You were tattooed, completely, or partially, or not at all. I can’t say you never had an effect on me. You did. But look! Those ripples are fading, and soon the stone will sink beneath the surface of the water.

The metaphor was always about water, whether the vast ocean or the rushing river, but stepping stones don’t matter anymore. I discovered I can fly. Who looks down on who is a matter of perspective, but don’t forget, Aquaman is mocked and Superman is celebrated. That’s why I look up at the sky.

I never imagined a universe where I get along better with the one I spent so much time leaving than I do with you. But here we aren’t.

You always said that happiness was transient, and it is. But so is each breath, and I’ve been breathing my whole life.