The State of Being
It is impossible to forget what you long to remember. No longer a face, a silhouette or a scent, but an elevated state of being. One that moves you to smile when you have no ulterior reason to do so. One that galvanizes every sense from the mundane lethargy of daily existence. One that offers hope, solace and companionship amid the most somber of days. A state of being called love. Insipid is life in its absence. Bearable only because of its memory. No longer personified but amorphous. Taking transient, ephemeral shape in moments of inspiration when I can still hear the mellifluous song of life, the sublime melody of the human soul. The deafness of the world around me cannot appreciate the same music I do, making me an object of acrid scorn for it. The feeling is mutual. The company of someone who does not deserve you keeps you from the company of someone who does. The past may take its leave; the future is on its way. In the meantime, the present calls for me. It demands that I learn to enjoy the day. To set aside worries and fears, and find another way. One through the seemingly impenetrable jungle of indifference that surrounds me, always fighting, always believing, never relinquishing my faith. The most supreme state of being starts not tomorrow, but today.