Bookmark #870

In the evening, I met a friend and after that took a walk and for some reason and no intention, I found myself in a very popular square of the city. I stood there for a bit and watched the vehicles appear out of thin air from the streets on one end and then disappear into the nothingness of the night. This, too, I did not intend on, but I looked up, and there I was, caught in the moment. I want to say, for the sake of powerful imagery, that I could see all the moments from my life unfolding in it, for there could have been a million times I have walked over those familiar streets, but it would be a lie and you, clever reader, would catch on to it. This is a relationship of honesty, after all. And so, I have to tell you that the moment was as ordinary as it could have been, and that is solely why it felt crucial, why I had to hold my gaze at it. There are times like these, too, I reckon—the unimportant times, the parts that fall through the cracks of memory. I looked at it, and I remember it now, and this seems erroneous to me. Almost as if I were never meant to watch it, that I was never meant to see how even something we call “nothing” can look so wonderful and inspiring, too.

And now, this is all I will remember from this day. Perhaps, a few things more—knick-knacks of the human condition, I reckon—but mostly just that moment in the evening as I stood there in the nippy air of an evening in January with an insurmountable surety in my heart. What has made me so steadfast about myself? What has made me so worriless? There are, of course, always things to fix, but lately, nothing has worried me. Everything happens, and if we find something is not to our liking, then, we need not fret. We only ought to wait. Things are always happening. It is the only thing that can be counted on. And since things are always happening, eventually, they find their way to be just how we prefer them, not too hot, not too cold. And sure, vital, life-or-death things remain undone, and of course, my search for love remains incomplete, and yes, there is the unanswerable question of purpose. All in due time, I say. One day at a time, I say. Today, we celebrate the middle.

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