Dear You,
The Sun is still up and I feel strangely content. Whatever it is, I am grateful for it. The sunlight's crisscross patterns on the paper lamp have been still as ever, and on my way back from college, there is the blurry sight of a picturesque lane, with a tree stooping forward as if to say hello and an adorable little Volkswagen waiting right underneath it. It reminds me of autumn, shedding colours, even though the spring breeze is here and alive. Sounds and sights and scents, they matter. Things matter. If not their presence,then their absence certainly does. What could we do if the evening sky decided that it would rather have the heavy sound of gnawing cranes accompany it instead of the cheerful birds? What could I do if a monotonous, black car replaced the Volkswagen? Because I could not imagine a Land Rover smiling at me. I should be thankful, really.
And there is something else. People have been abrupt. I have been told to control my Thank Yous, I have listened to an unexpected outburst of someone explaining how they liked how someone else held their hand tightly, and I have looked up from doing work to see blatant tears, just on the verge of sliding down. It has been strange, but it made me think. People really do crumble behind smiles, and you would never know. I would never know. And I am determined now, to listen and to see, and to inquire occasionally if a given person at a given time is doing alright. You and I, we can feel. If not for others, then for ourselves. And to look at a person, and to sit and think, they've known anger and ache and silence just as well as I have. To know that they need forgiving just as much as I do. To know that they could stutter a list of reasons just as well as I could, if only I would listen - it is astounding. I want to understand and most of all, I want to be kind. I really do. Lord help me.
There is a lot of Taking going on. The night takes away the day and the day takes away the night. Ammi sometimes comes in the room and takes away a little tear and this pack of crisps is taking away my hunger. But if I look close enough, things give themselves away, too. The March winds, for instance, because they let me hear what I want to hear. And they let themselves be happy when I am happy and they let themselves gasp sometimes when I am a little down in the dumps. I can hear what I want to. But people usually do.
And in my notebook right now, there are two people having a candid conversation. One of them said, "I thought you'd sense I want to know Why, not If." The other replied, "Then ask what you mean to." I like these people. For love and for the oceans and the flowers and the starlit sky that sing it's songs, I am infinitely grateful, I am infinitely blessed.
Thank you for listening.
Love,
Me.
The Sun is still up and I feel strangely content. Whatever it is, I am grateful for it. The sunlight's crisscross patterns on the paper lamp have been still as ever, and on my way back from college, there is the blurry sight of a picturesque lane, with a tree stooping forward as if to say hello and an adorable little Volkswagen waiting right underneath it. It reminds me of autumn, shedding colours, even though the spring breeze is here and alive. Sounds and sights and scents, they matter. Things matter. If not their presence,then their absence certainly does. What could we do if the evening sky decided that it would rather have the heavy sound of gnawing cranes accompany it instead of the cheerful birds? What could I do if a monotonous, black car replaced the Volkswagen? Because I could not imagine a Land Rover smiling at me. I should be thankful, really.
And there is something else. People have been abrupt. I have been told to control my Thank Yous, I have listened to an unexpected outburst of someone explaining how they liked how someone else held their hand tightly, and I have looked up from doing work to see blatant tears, just on the verge of sliding down. It has been strange, but it made me think. People really do crumble behind smiles, and you would never know. I would never know. And I am determined now, to listen and to see, and to inquire occasionally if a given person at a given time is doing alright. You and I, we can feel. If not for others, then for ourselves. And to look at a person, and to sit and think, they've known anger and ache and silence just as well as I have. To know that they need forgiving just as much as I do. To know that they could stutter a list of reasons just as well as I could, if only I would listen - it is astounding. I want to understand and most of all, I want to be kind. I really do. Lord help me.
There is a lot of Taking going on. The night takes away the day and the day takes away the night. Ammi sometimes comes in the room and takes away a little tear and this pack of crisps is taking away my hunger. But if I look close enough, things give themselves away, too. The March winds, for instance, because they let me hear what I want to hear. And they let themselves be happy when I am happy and they let themselves gasp sometimes when I am a little down in the dumps. I can hear what I want to. But people usually do.
And in my notebook right now, there are two people having a candid conversation. One of them said, "I thought you'd sense I want to know Why, not If." The other replied, "Then ask what you mean to." I like these people. For love and for the oceans and the flowers and the starlit sky that sing it's songs, I am infinitely grateful, I am infinitely blessed.
Thank you for listening.
Love,
Me.
2 comments:
You write very beautifully. I felt like reading it again and again.
Thank you, that made me smile.
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