Thinking.
Yesterday, I was with someone, a very beautiful woman, who wanted to stop being alone.
And it shadowed her face, and bruised her hubris a little, to admit that being alone was something that she found both comfort and terror with. And she wanted, needed, and prayed for someone else to be strong for her, because, while she wasn’t weary yet, could anticipate a long harsh and exhausting trial ahead of her. I told her that she was breathtaking. I’d so rarely in my lifetime been so lucky as to encounter such a pure heart.
Earlier in the week, I was with someone, a very beautiful woman, who wanted to stop feeling trapped.
Perhaps trapped isn’t the right word. Dissatisfied is part of it. Frustrated and angry is another. Jjipped, bait and switched, fooled, chumped, and sulky might be other words. Her heart, cchipped bit by bit, weary, and worn, kicked around like a ragdoll owned by a petulant child. I can only imagine what’s going through her head right now. Also terrified of being alone, but more terrified of wasting any more of herself on someone who would not cherish her enough.
Today I was standing at sunset on the beach.
And I was lost in the moment of trying to figure out what was more beautiful:
The sun itself setting into the ocean
The reflecrion of this sunset on the waves
Or perhaps the most ephemeral and imperminent micromoment of the sunset reflecting on the sheen of beach shore immediately after a wave had come in and chased itself out again. That moment of inbetween,caught between the elements, at the end of something great which means something clean sets the stage for the next day.
Perhaps.
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