It's old. There are some cracks due to earthquakes that happened decades ago. There are dead leaves, strewn, invisible in the morning fog, but clear and dry brown in the yellow of the day. Suddenly, you're old enough to notice. To love and not love the place that was the bestest, awesomestest, funnest place in the world for you as a kid. You see flaws and gaping imperfections. And yet, it's spellbinding how beautiful the place still manages to be. All those places, every angle you look from had a meaning, an annotation to you. The dead leaves were crunchy to walk on; the cracks unheeded and forgiven; the sunshine, surreal, out of the world, so pretty on the trees, it's like no other time of the year. Like. Dislike. Unable to pull apart.
It's like love.
You mesmerize.. I was planning to write something on love but now idea seems so childish. Hey are you some 40 year old in the garb of her? :P
ReplyDeleteAw, I seem THAT old? :D
ReplyDeleteEvery piece is different, isn't it? Please write what you'd been meaning to. It'd be nice to read, I'm sure. :)
I find me somewhere, everywhere on this blog. Such parallels are rare.
ReplyDeleteAnd that's an honor. :)
ReplyDeleteI really like your work. Thank you!