“I like the stars. It is the illusion of permanence, I think. They’re always flaring up and caving in and going out. But from here, I can pretend – I can pretend things last. I can pretend that lives last longer than moments. Gods come, and gods go. Mortals flicker and flash and fade. Worlds don’t last, and stars and galaxies are transient, fleeting things that twinkle like fireflies and vanish into cold and dust. But I can pretend…”
It has been said that most of us, in fact, are wild. There’s a part of us that still sits unmined. There’s a piece of our soul that still commands stardust, is still locked in the heavens, that part of us that has been described as fire. As hurricanes. Warm and disastrous. We have both the power to weave and the power to unravel.
I pulled out all of my old pictures this morning. Printed, not digital. Remember when we used to do that? Pick up our photos from Walgreens or Long’s or Costco. Remember the tangible? The things we could feel with both our hands and our hearts. I think I am addicted to nostalgia. So I look, knowing even the good times will hurt, too.
He rescues me in ways he doesn’t even realize. With his warm voice and sweet kisses. Like harmony and honey. I watch the Ferris wheel along the boardwalk spin round and round. A colorful pinwheel surrounded by the scent of pink cotton candy and kettle corn. We are belly laughs and rose gold cheeks. I cannot fully describe this feeling in my stomach. Something like joy and nostalgia and I’m looking at him and realizing he is my future.