If one day, I could capture the grit of mistakes, the flaws that hook you rather than reject you, that pristine, dust-moted dusk of what it’s like to live in a world that’s so beautiful but broken and raw and mortal, but not dwelling on the dark and not oversaturating the light, like laughing through the pain and weeping through the joy. If I could do that, to capture the ache and longing of something that’s always out of reach but isn’t a torture–or maybe it is?–no, there are sunlit moments scattered like an arpeggio, there are. They dazzle and remind you why life is worth all off this muck and mess.
If one day I could capture all of that in a story, and then someone reads it and they get it. Or they heal. Or they see something that flies them into an epiphany. Or something. Something small and pristine but grand. I don’t know, like a butterfly flittering past on a walk when you weren’t expecting to see any yet.
If one day I could do that, then….
Then perhaps all this might be worth it.
You know, to more than just me.