When Nothing Means Anything
When you realize nothing means anything, it all starts meaning so much more.
Like the way the light comes through the curtains at dawn and touches your lover's face.
Or the way his laughter echoes in your bones, the way it fills you unexpectedly and makes you start laughing through your tears when you're sad.
The way a single kiss can make you forget your name, your time, your place. And how you feel like a part of you will be lost floating in that kiss forever.
Or the way a flower grows through a crack in the sidewalk, resilient and determined. Like, just try and tell me I can't do this thing. And you feel connected to that flower. "I get it, little flower," you think. "I get it."
Then there's the way the grass sneaks up between your bare toes and the way the sand and the sea does that too. And how you feel like you could walk that way forever, with bits of the earth filling your empty spaces.
Or how the smell of morning coffee reminds you of Grandpa and the way you always knew he loved you even though he never said it.
The way we say so much with our eyes and our touches and the things that float in the spaces between us.
The way these moments make you feel so real and so full. So you slow down. You stop for sunsets. You feel the wind on your skin.
You start saying no to things that don't feed your soul.
You stop trying to make yourself care about things you really don't care about anymore.
Because it's the littlest things that make you feel the most alive. The lips, the eyes, the land, the sea.
And it's like nothing else matters but to exist in order to feel these things. Like it's enough. Like it'll all be written on your soul for a long long time.