display | more...
Possibilities are endless in my lifetime. I could do anything, I could accomplish any goal. There are some times though, when you realize that something will never happen, and you are content with that fact. At least, as content as you can be.

I have already sown my wild oats and I am far past the stage of longingly staring at waiters and record store clerks with dewy eyes. I am in love, and I am happy about it. It is a real and a good love, a solid sort of thing with lots of laughing and spraying water. This is tangible, this is life. This is the feeling of the sun on my shoulders, the smooth underside of leaves, gravel crunching under my Converse. Off on the other side of the computer screen, words reach out like ghostly fingers at the nape of my neck. The prose, the life, the intensity and the honesty pulls at my attention.

But I am already in love. The words are all black on white, and after I've ingested them they are gone. Accompanying pictures would be unnecessary, and would only prolong the fade.

Just because it fades doesn't make it any less real. The fact that I will never pursue this possibility doesn't make it any less of a possibility. There is just the strangely melancholy feeling of knowing that there might have been something more, if I wasn't already in love - and the object of my affection was more than just a beautiful tangle of words.

Log in or register to write something here or to contact authors.