Bookmark

There are times when I stumble across something, a quote, a song or a sentiment, that completely captures the essence of my emotional state and situation at a particular moment in time.  Describing my experience in a way I wasn't expecting, resonating within with resounding clarity.  It is these things that are worthy of bookmarking for later savor.

There's nothing to writing. 

 All you do is sit down at a typewriter and open a vein.

~Walter Wellesley "Red" Smith

Well, that's for sure.  Interestingly, it is those things that are closest to our being, the fabric of our souls, that make us vulnerable.

I marvel at those times when joy or pain, heartbreak or tearful happiness is highlighted through anothers voice.  Times when simple words, a melody, a scent even, will take me back to an exact moment faster than a blink.  I have a love-hate relationship with these things, these snippets of humanity that, obviously, have been spying on my innermost thoughts.

‎What I needed most was to love and to be loved, eager to be caught.

Happily I wrapped those painful bonds around me;

and sure enough,

I would be lashed with the red-hot pokers of jealousy,

by suspicions and fear,

by burst of anger and quarrels.

~attributed to Augustine

And then there's music.  The descriptor of our spirit.

Is this the saddest song ever written?  Is it, in fact, a song lamenting a lost romantic love?  Or could it be that this melancholy song writer is describing a love of another kind?  It is possible.  I suppose there is no way of knowing, is there?

Maybe I should have saved those leftover dreams.

Funny, but here's that rainy day.

Here's that rainy day they told me about,

and I laughed at the thought that it might turn out this way.

Where is that worn out wish that I threw aside

after it brought my love so near?

Funny how love becomes a cold rainy day.

Funny...that rainy day is here.

It's funny how love becomes a cold rainy day...

Funny,

that rainy day is here.

Rainy days and leftover dreams.  Admittedly, it is much easier to be melancholy when the weather is grey, dismal and oppressive, most certainly.  And love...well, that's a topic for another day, I'm sure.

All was silent as before -

All silent save the dripping rain.

~Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Words that speak to the soul, notes that mimic the rhythm of a heartbeat...
And thoughts that are worthy of marking for later contemplation.

**************