My Romanticism
The weather made me do it. No, actually, I was doing it to impress someone, I guess I still am. Why do I do these things? For some reason I feel like I should be impressing someone, could be impressing some girl… does she care? No. She doesn’t even know I am doing this, and yet, upon a passing glance we met for a split moment. The air was crisp, the sky blue, the earth awash in brown winter tones. Why does this stand out? The soft impression of her perfume lingers yet in my mind. Likely she knows not her effect on me. Autumn leaves delicately twitched on their respective stems. Four, five steps? Or was it three? I hadn’t time to say hello. Not capturing a glimpse of her back, not a stutter of my step, I regret… Which will stay with me longer, my regret, or her memory? A memory now frozen to my expressionless face, of her, my modest respite from a windy gust of a day. And I passed her by.
This saddens me. I can’t get over her. I return to the same location, same crisp hour to hear the leaves crackle under the soles of my step. To study the funny methods of the finches in the winter wind. Every day, the same birds, the same cold setting, but her I never saw again. I began, after a while, to realize the beauty is passing. It wasn’t her but the interaction that was special. I also came to know this great metaphor for the way we live. The beauty is truly in the passing. It’s what we make of the little things that count. Make the most of it, forget your regret. Don’t ever let this world get you upset. They say not to let the world pass you by but the reality is it will always be passing us by, and that’s where we stand. You, me, us, them, they, we’re all just passing by.
This saddens me. I can’t get over her. I return to the same location, same crisp hour to hear the leaves crackle under the soles of my step. To study the funny methods of the finches in the winter wind. Every day, the same birds, the same cold setting, but her I never saw again. I began, after a while, to realize the beauty is passing. It wasn’t her but the interaction that was special. I also came to know this great metaphor for the way we live. The beauty is truly in the passing. It’s what we make of the little things that count. Make the most of it, forget your regret. Don’t ever let this world get you upset. They say not to let the world pass you by but the reality is it will always be passing us by, and that’s where we stand. You, me, us, them, they, we’re all just passing by.