Wednesday, July 9, 2014

A Tokyo Night


Summer is warm in the air, thicker with each passing day. It swamps in through the nose, fills the mouth like cotton candy, sweet and melting, light and heavy. A slight breeze in the evening streets is a relief, and for some reason, it reminds me of you.


The sidewalks are milling with workers on their way home, clutching black business bags and wearing white shirts. Everyone has a story, has hardships, works toward something or works for something. So many people, countless faces that are only blanks until you happen to bump into each other and start jotting notes onto the slate. So many pass by again with just a few quick notes. Only a few end up with the slate filled and words spilling off the edges like water. And of those, sometimes time itself can wipe them all away.


How do we keep hold of the things we really want? How do we reach out with tentative hands to even define the solid edges of what it is we want? How fragile these moments, these colors and these words. They easily escape us in the ongoing torrent of everyday life.


Close your eyes... let everything go out of focus for a second, and everything fade into the background of the composition.


We are here, living and breathing, for a reason. And the reason is whatever you choose to make of it.