Most don’t know this, it’s not like it’s taught in primary school, in places of higher education. It really isn’t taught anywhere. We who know, know, and we pass it on, to children, sometimes to a lover. I guess that’s why I’m here, leaving this note on a park bench, written on some bar napkin I got at last call just a few hours ago. I loved someone, still do, always.
I meant to tell her this secret I know, meant to tell her everything in my head. I wanted to tell our relationship with nature, how our connections to one another affect nature, shape the natural world. It’s old magic, as old as the sun. It’s not complicated, it’s easy to understand, easy as breathing. It’s… I’ll just get to it. The emotions we feel toward each other, between each other, they create things, physical things. Waterfalls are manifestations of collected sorrow. Volcanos are manifestations of collected rage. These are just the big, flashy examples, it’s the little things that really wind me up . Things like, fireflies come about when lovers kiss that very first time. Things like, rainbows show up when babies are conceived. Things like, orchids grow when mothers pass out of this world. Nothing we feel is a waste, everything we feel is an act of creation.
I’m looking at a crow right now, perched a few benches down. She could be my crow. See, crows come into being when one gets left by a true, complete, know it in one’s bones, kind of love. The kind of love I felt just at the sound of her voice, the girl who left, who flew away. The crow is the loneliness I feel at night, in the dark. The empty part in my heart that’ll never be filled again, because such love is absolutely unique, can’t be created the same. The crow is the aimlessness I feel, stumbling in and out of bars, looking for fixes that won’t fix anything.
Anyway, this napkin’s all covered up with the words I spilled onto it, words for her that will probably end up nowhere. I’ll just leave them for the wind, or the crows.7 comments
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