"You don't need to click a photograph of that," she said "not all beautiful things need to be captured by a camera lens,framed into definition,sometimes,your eyes are enough to hold all the beauty still,comfort it like a crying person in your arms."
The other woman,mucho hipsta-Pastel striped scarf teamed up with black shorts and T-shirt,short cropped hair,thick black frames-meekly nodded in reply,as she took another giant bite off her sandwich.It usually so happens,when you notice a pair of people,it always appears as if one does the majority of the talking and the other listens.I wonder if strangers took me to be the listener,I wonder if strangers really notice.Yes,I'm a bit creepy like that,analyzing the prospect of strangers analyzing me exciting me and all that.
And when I heard this almost profound statement,in my warm,friendly idea of urban utopia-Home away from home-Subway,it took me to another place.
That's the thing about unintentionally eavesdropping on conversations out of sheer curiosity,there are snips and bits you catch on and they always take you back to a memory you din't know you'd created,and revisiting a memory while hearing a remark about memory-loop within a loop,close to déjà vu.
Conversations like these remind me of the estranged quiet of sunsets on apartment terraces,blowing bubbles,blowing away a childhood,the evening prayers-the perfect music to the muse of the breeze-I swear this memory could count as a painting.The memory of not wanting to leave.
The nostalgia entangled with excitement-the reluctance to grow up juxtaposed with the adventure that awaits,the hurt of being chosen over,the triumph of learning to say no,to stop,the cuts left from jagged goodbyes,the rush of power that only comes from learning not to stop,beating the odds.Beat,beat-like eggs for an omelette,like a heart reminding itself to beat.
"Subway reminds me of Friends" my sister quips in-Yes,I agree,always takes me back to happy places I forgot-times of sharing giant cookies,while over the small things,that adda you go to before and after-a movie,a birthday party,school,when your hungry and you're not,when you're fourteen and not,and everything you feel in between.
"No" she says "The show,friends.Brick walls,and it's emptiness,and the intimacy of it all.The 90's.The big red Open sign,an invitation to life's neverending reverie."
Yes,strange woman who I don't know,you don't need to keep reminding yourself of anything,no keepsakes required for flashes of all things best-and thanks for reminding me,that's why you're never alone.Not with all this beauty in the world,to be cherished.Even if you are,you have havens,homes away from home,where loneliness is a common syndrome.And just for a minute,all of it can give you beatific bliss.
The other woman,mucho hipsta-Pastel striped scarf teamed up with black shorts and T-shirt,short cropped hair,thick black frames-meekly nodded in reply,as she took another giant bite off her sandwich.It usually so happens,when you notice a pair of people,it always appears as if one does the majority of the talking and the other listens.I wonder if strangers took me to be the listener,I wonder if strangers really notice.Yes,I'm a bit creepy like that,analyzing the prospect of strangers analyzing me exciting me and all that.
And when I heard this almost profound statement,in my warm,friendly idea of urban utopia-Home away from home-Subway,it took me to another place.
That's the thing about unintentionally eavesdropping on conversations out of sheer curiosity,there are snips and bits you catch on and they always take you back to a memory you din't know you'd created,and revisiting a memory while hearing a remark about memory-loop within a loop,close to déjà vu.
Conversations like these remind me of the estranged quiet of sunsets on apartment terraces,blowing bubbles,blowing away a childhood,the evening prayers-the perfect music to the muse of the breeze-I swear this memory could count as a painting.The memory of not wanting to leave.
The nostalgia entangled with excitement-the reluctance to grow up juxtaposed with the adventure that awaits,the hurt of being chosen over,the triumph of learning to say no,to stop,the cuts left from jagged goodbyes,the rush of power that only comes from learning not to stop,beating the odds.Beat,beat-like eggs for an omelette,like a heart reminding itself to beat.
"Subway reminds me of Friends" my sister quips in-Yes,I agree,always takes me back to happy places I forgot-times of sharing giant cookies,while over the small things,that adda you go to before and after-a movie,a birthday party,school,when your hungry and you're not,when you're fourteen and not,and everything you feel in between.
"No" she says "The show,friends.Brick walls,and it's emptiness,and the intimacy of it all.The 90's.The big red Open sign,an invitation to life's neverending reverie."
Yes,strange woman who I don't know,you don't need to keep reminding yourself of anything,no keepsakes required for flashes of all things best-and thanks for reminding me,that's why you're never alone.Not with all this beauty in the world,to be cherished.Even if you are,you have havens,homes away from home,where loneliness is a common syndrome.And just for a minute,all of it can give you beatific bliss.
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