An Overture, for Life
I have always wondered if there is any way for us to introduce to all that’ll come after us, the world we’re living in right now
There is an unclaimed magic in the air, of how perfect yet how flawed we are. We speak openly about vulnerability and how it ties lovers and friends together while hiding behind some perfectly edited pictures. We often tell people more than they should know, and in the guilt of oversharing, we live in precarious relationships that tether between us being from close strangers to distant friends. We understand the sentience of life, but instead of looking around, we look for it in machines. We dress everything in human consciousness, and maybe that is how we interpret how the world closely listens to us and dances to each of our emotions that it senses.
If not, how do we define those evenings that simply take our breath away? With the slow loss of light, rainy twilights sometimes birth these soft and gloomy golden hours and the most majestic blue hours. It is as if the earth has changed into a true winter palette in the dead of summer. You are in a trance, bright clouds and faint cool winds perfectly accompany the warm cup of tea in your hands. It’s so cruel how beautiful those evenings are that it almost makes me wonder, maybe monsters rule weathers like these.
Monsters who just must have had enough of being identified with the antithesis of anything good, rule these precariously dangerous moments: the sudden absence of light post sunsets, of sunlight breaking into a thousand yellow pieces everytime it hits water, of cruel summer storms that come without any caution and leave us drenched in the scent of earth, of having your heart swayed by someone you thought was almost impossible to fall for. These moments speak of danger we were never cautioned against, the real monsters under our beds who create nothing but ripples in our otherwise ordinary lives.
It is midnight, 12:30 am. Summer rains, soft and delicate fall on rooftops, in all of its generous abundance. In this absurd loss of hearing anything else, I hope you listen to the overture of life, of living.
(written sometime in the summer of ’24, posting in late winter, February of ’25)
