The Thread that Binds All Things

We are a race of small miracles. We forget that a lot. And it's because we dream of something or we love someone. By rushing headfirst, along the way burning the energy of our youth, capitalizing on the wisdom of our maturity, we learn to define our journeys from milestone to milestone, picking up meaning and fulfillment along the way, and somehow redefining, with every step, the destination. As time inevitably slips away, that is all we live for.

But we owe ourselves those empty moments: when we walk alone in the darkness, heading somewhere familiar, wondering what it all means. When we let the overwhelming lack of meaning in the world raise it's head and hiss, "Howdy?" It's all random in the end. I learned that.

Life is arbitrary, and it's also unapologetic about it. The sooner you realize this, the sooner you'll see that anything goes, really. You could really be all you want to be. Simply because, there is no other better option, everything else is pointless. There's no room for drama, for excuses. I believe we're all roaming around in a kind of maze of our own creation. We box ourselves in with where we should go, what we should do, and who we should be. It gets tiring. What matters then is what you want--and if you got there.

Pursuits are temporary enough. We dream. We love. We decide. We change our minds. As they say, everything in life is only for now. We survive by being transitory.

But don't despair. 'Til then, you'll happen upon bits and grains of happiness. It might be as simple as an unexpected lunch on a warm Sunday afternoon, or a midnight stroll along puddles and the whisper of rain, or that warm feeling whenever you join the laugh of close friends. There is a small, inconsequential beauty that pervades across all things. And though it too is random, I choose to experience it as fate.

A gentle cue to pick something out of the multitude of possibilities in my life and go for it. A signal to dive in. To hope. Just go ahead and find your answer. And if we don't get there, we'd at least have the satisfaction of knowing we died trying.

Just keep moving. And keep your eye on those small miracles.

The Red Stain

He said to me, "When relationships end, the only thing that remains is either the love or the hate." It was spoken like a promise. As if all romantic undertakings, however unique, would converge towards this dismal eventuality. We were sitting down, for coffee, or dinner, I don't particularly remember. I just remember that I turned to him, this friend of mine who got burned pretty bad in his last relationship, my eye's brimming with contempt, and told him point blank, "Wow, that's deep".

I didn't believe it. I was naive then, a passionate innocent of the worst kind. I knew with all my heart that true love never fails. If you love someone, if you truly love them, then all else will fall into place. As long as the fire burns, the wrong can be made right. There is always the opportunity to talk, and in that simple act elicit understanding, and the final acceptance and catharsis.

I drew my courage from my current relationship. There, even after all the late arguments, the long discussions, the emotional roller coaster rides, our tenacity inspired my own wonderment. "This must be love," I said to myself, "we wouldn't have lasted as long otherwise."

It was a matter of pride as well. I will not be the hand that ends our relationship. I started it, with sound mind and in good conscience, and I mean to keep it. I did, until last week.

There is only the echoing emptiness now. The gap left behind. Wait, let me reword that, the gash left behind by an ended relationship. It felt like something essential was forcibly rended from me, grasped and torn away. And what remains now, is the simplified whole of me. The me that exists when there is nothing opposite, when there is no complement. I've forgotten who that was, and the time has come to find my way back. There was no other choice.

But it cannot be denied that things are much simpler now. When your goals are only your own, freedom is assured. But what freedom is worth the price of forgetting love? I'll find out, but never forget. The blood red stain of the love that remains splattered across my being will see to that.