Scribbling Moments

Sometimes I do that. Carve myself a romantic moment out of nowhere, out of nothing, or not exactly out of nothing, out of... say pleasant weather, a Friday evening, sunny skies, gentle breeze, so as I came out of the Indigo Bookstore, instead of going straight for my car, I took my notebook and pen, settled on a curb in a more spacious corner protected by a blanket of shades overlooking hydro lines that dip and stretch into the distance, how I love the breeze brush through my hair, messy and dramatic, but ultimately lonely, and I'd be so overwhelmed by my emotions that I wouldn't know where to go and that'd be the point I say, "I can't take it no more."

A thought brushed over me as I was sitting there on the curb. I thought to myself, how I love to record this moment into my notebook, and so I started scribbling away, but as usual, my words couldn't match what I was seeing, what I was feeling, and I become discouraged as second after second ticked away. You cannot reproduce a moment. You simply can't. Not by writing, not by photographs, nothing. You can come close, and that's about all I can do, write as close to my heart as possible. Yes, that's what I'm trying to do, write as close to my heart possible.

On the other hand, why not just live this moment, let go, then live the next. There's bound to be more Friday summer evenings of clear skies and gentle breeze, and who knows, by then I might have somebody sitting next to me, and I wouldn't be thinking about writing so much. And that's all I have to say about that.