The Little Things

Today I was in the mall and didn’t once think about zombies. This seems like something little, but it isn’t, considering zombies are usually the first thing that crosses my mind when I enter any mall.

None of this is little or inconsequential. Quite the opposite.

Today my mouth hurts from smiling. I like smiling, although I don’t think I’m very good at it. But maybe I’m getting better.

I’m learning to drive while only using my left hand. This makes me exceedingly happy.

There are some things, that no matter how many times you see them, it always feels like you’re seeing, and feeling something, and knowing something, for the first time. That first amazing, breathtaking time.

I love curtains.

Tonight I wandered through a cemetery, and the sky was perfect. I think it’s the first perfect sky I’ve seen. The clouds, layered and billowed, allowed pockets of moonlight to pass through, and those pockets managed to bathe the cemetery in a pale, sterile light. The moon, nearly full, hid behind and within those passing clouds, just barely visible yet still spreading light.

And I wondered: is the sky itself perfect, or is it the moment, and all the moments before and beyond, and beyond, and beyond?

I was once afraid of forever.

Once.

Tonight, and nights prior, I’ve been learning and reaffirming the fact that some things are not meant to be understood by the masses, or even closer communities. Some things can only be understood by two people, together. When something may seem illogical or insane or countless other negatively connotated adjectives, that something truly makes more sense than anything else you’ve ever known or thought or said. It’s everything.

And lace. I also enjoy lace. But I’m not sure about lace curtains.