Sometimes when I’m listening to someone speak, I like to ever so slightly blur my eyes with a somewhat formless squint. Instead of taking in the details of their mouths, I’m able to see their spill of colors void of featured distraction. I feel them as a painting and I see no flaws. A breathing portrait. 

I thought today of my swirling sadnesses, the one’s I push past to stand in the morning, to smile, to create, to go another day. I thought about where these sadnesses stem from. Typically a slew of faded memories that slip through the cracks and slap me like a switchblade. I wondered on the importance of perspective. And with wonderment, I squinted my mind. I blurred the edges of memory and turned my past into nebulous shapes, colors of experience. Fire hot reds, soft blues, pulsating purples, gold glittering truths. It was as though a weight had been lifted from my chest. With the scrutinizing details removed, all that was left was an undulating portrait of a previous time. 

One day we will die. Death will squint us out of existence and we will be formless again. And in that moment, what will truly matter? The man that cut you off on the freeway? The woman who yelled at you in the grocery story? The kid who makes you uncomfortable simply for having a different sexual orientation than you? The man of a different race/religion? A fight with your lover? A fight with your mother? Will any of this matter on your last breath?

If your answer is no, try not to let it matter now. Let it go. Squint it out of existence before it devours and conquers your life.

xx,
Nostalghia

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