Beauty surrounds me.
Cirrus clouds softly wafting overhead, glowing with the last remnants of the sun's rays. Stretched out above me, they seem so large, so fragile, so...free.
A man sits on the stone stoop across the street. I have seen him here before, several times a day as long as I'm looking. He always appears to be waiting patiently for someone. Maybe we all are, and he simply chose a more prominent place and way to do so.
The night air breathes softly on my face and shoulders, as steady as a man breathes while deep in slumber. Its breath is cool and fresh, carrying the cologne of dewy foliage and nightfallen lakes. Every exhale is a caress, every inhale an anticipatory moment.
The waiting man has returned. It's clear now that his intention is to kill two birds with one stone, as the saying goes - to enjoy the evening, and to feed his smoking habit. I'm afraid he waits simply for death.
My new neighbor three balconies down has much to say to whomever is on the other end of the cellular connection. She certainly did when we spoke earlier, and now she has been jabbering for a half an hour. The young man with the dredlocks in the apartment across the street enjoys his music and dancing to it.
I find myself rather irritated by the nearby streetlamp. Though I am currently writing by its light, I find it abrasive. It is eyelevel, and rather peach in color. It casts everything in harsh relief. I prefer to hide at least my eyes behind the shadows.
Though I am surrounded by very active signs of life, I feel rather alone. I know I am a rare person. I know so very little about humanity. Perhaps we are all rare persons. But wouldn't that make us all common then?
The waiting man reminds me of myself. I find myself waiting in anticipation for the next big thing to come into my life. I wonder sometimes if I will happen upon it accidentally, or purposefully. Also, I wonder when I'll happen upon it, and whether or not I would recognize it for what it is when I do. Could it be possible that I am oblivious enough to do so? To miss it entirely?
The night air entices me. It transports me to a place I rarely visit. In my senses, I temporarily experience an exquisite disconnect. I know I am sitting on my balcony on a gorgeous summer evening in August, but my senses revert to their settings several years ago when I first really inhaled this peculiar phenomenon.
I was much younger then. I was much more innocent, though far from purity. This was back when I believed I had yet to meet my Prince, that he was real, and he was coming. Back before anger, force, violence, abuse, abandonment, avoidance, fear, embarassment, poverty, depression, anxiety, and sadness shaped me.
I would sit for hours, swatting away mosquitos and needy felines, facing the sky, hoping to find some answers there. I wished on every falling star. I prayed for signs from God. I asked for him so many times. I waited in abundant anticipation. I thought I would know him when I saw him. As I breathed in that intoxicating scent, I fell deeply and madly in love with love. I dreamed of nights when I would sit out on a balcony just like this one, but with my sweetheart sitting beside me.
Tonight, I sit surrounded by life, but ultimately alone. Though I feel rather sad in reflection of my silly and girlish childhood fantasies, I simply know better now. I feel for young, sweet, innocent Steph. She knows nothing of true love.
She knows nothing of the insanity it causes, the focus it absorbs and demands. She knows nothing of the intense, shattering heartbreak when love is not returned. She knows nothing of corruption, greed, manipulation, or control. She knows nothing of cheating hearts and bodies. She knows nothing of true love, the endless chaos we cannot survive without.
She knows nothing of the unfathomable beauty one experiences when one gives their heart to another. She knows nothing of the extraordinarily satisfying connection two people are capable of making between themselves. She has never seen someone light up a room just for her with their smile. She has never felt another person's hand holding hers protectively. She has never felt the true connection and unity of two souls colliding with the force of the heavens themselves. She has never gotten lost in another's eyes. The beauty of human interaction emcompasses the lovliness and the ugliness of love itself.
Beauty is all around me this evening. Mostly, though, beauty surrounds me in a shroud of memories. Some are wonderful, some are terrible, and all are unique to me.
In times like these, in seasons such as this, it is the beauty of these memories, these experiences, that I must fall back on. Things are not beautiful right now, but there is something beautiful in every instance.
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