For most of life, people go about being wrong about things. In fact, everything we know is most likely wrong. Some folks get super anxious about that. They start questioning the meaning of life and existence, and that's where they get into trouble. People try really really very hard to prove that wrong is right. And it IS right, without it having to prove anything at all.
I, by the way, fall into the category of "people".
Three years ago, something happened that changed my view on life extraordinarily. Although it hasn't necessarily made me a happier person, I'd say it's an overall better outlook. Someone I spent hours of time with everyday and intimately knew accidentally took a stage dive into infinity from a 16 story window. Our collective story is quite the tale for another time, but it's strange to start a love story with the twist ending.
I was still going through the pain of splitting up with him, trying to get over him, remembering how he treated me in reality over what I'd like to see. I'd have his image stuck in my head as this character. And what a character he was. But I couldn't shake the fact that character isn't the only thing to look for in a partner.
But when I found out about his fall, my entire world spun on its head. Now, the character I was trying so hard to let go of, to slowly and smoothly ween out of my intimate life, was on every eyelash. Hearts were spilling open all around me. Shrines were erected to this monumental person that effected so many.... so many people. It was like my grief in which I had already come to terms with as a lover was now taken back out of the test tube and magnified by 10,000, and shared with the whole world.
I told myself guilt was a very silly thing to feel and immediately stopped. I wanted to use my grief for good, not evil. I suddenly felt more alive. I could see every color so much more. I could smell. I could hear every tone. My senses were heightened, and my emotions became a source of this new found amplification. I am still alive. How? How? Why does this make sense? It doesn't. Nothing makes sense. And thats perfect. Nothing makes any sense at all. I am free.
I will never get over this guy. He will always be the magician I met in a park one day and fell madly in love with. I will always have the image burned into my heart of a bowler hatted man on a unicycle, silhouetted against the Santa Fe sunset. I will remember green eyes glimmering in the sunlight, simultaneously reaching out and pulling in the world. I'll remember running my hands through his thick, short black hair, tracing every dot on his freckled pale skin, running my hands over the raised ink in the form of a passion flower on his right arm. His pinstriped pants. His chipped front tooth. I loved him. I still love him.
He later came to me in a dream and told me memories don't matter. They disappear after you die. But the moment.... The moment is forever happened. It will never disappear. It will go on for eternity, existing just as it was (and as it wasn't), forever.
The Moment Is Forever Happened.
Now I want to kiss the sky every time I see it flash. And I still get mad. I get mad that it makes no sense. I want answers. I want to figure it out. To not be wrong.
But we're all wrong, most of the time.
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