Friday, November 4, 2011

Things I can't write about

I can't write about flowers. Dwell on my favorite, its fragrance and soft petals. The vivid colors that took me away from the world. Tell you why I loved it so and how I long to receive my first bouquet of that particular flower. I'd then conclude with the fact that my relationship with my flower was out of these dimensions we inhibit. You'd be jealous.
Nor can I write about my favorite part of the day when I'm most myself. When only I exist. When thoughts aren't agonizing, emotions aren't raging, lights are empowering and everything seems welcoming.
I can't even say how walking clears my head and puts everything into new perspective. The ritual I love, my choice of music while I walked alone or the topics I introduced into the conversation with my companion.
My favorite season. Which and why. How it makes me feel. Witnessing the world switch colors swiftly. The memories it carries. What of that too? Was I also incapable of feeling strongly about a season?

I don't know. Buy me my favorite flower, give it to me while I walk under the sky of my favorite season. Make it about me. Then make me understand that these trifles aren't what make a person who they are. That they're simply used to say this is me, when in fact it was better not to have your personality identified by them because you feel as if loving them this much makes you feel as if you own them. Even if all of that wasn't true, tell me it is anyway.
PS: To clarify things, I don't have a favorite flower. I don't have a favorite part of the day. I don't have a favorite season. I don't walk that regularly.

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