Sometimes, you travel miles, experience all the grandeur, the tidbits of moments you've only imagined or thought too good to even dream of, all of those things and people you've met, who've gone all the way, with whatever it takes, to a thousand miles and away, only for the realization to dawn upon you, that maybe, a definite kind of maybe, that all you really need, is a familiar face, a familiar room, a familiar road, a familiar routine, a simple simple, a simpler way of everyday, a quieter mind, a certain longing, a very mild one, just the kind you are intrigued by but not wanting to act upon immediately, a familiar voice, a familiar comfort, familiarity. That familiarity.
This familiarity tugs along similar to music.
Like a certain tune that lightens your mood, or a certain other that tears it up, but ever so carefully, just in a few places, like how they say, an oxymoron- leaving one strong and soft at the same time.
Strong and soft. Maybe it is a good deal after all.
Likewise, the music and the familiarity that asks you, silently, to stay put.
Like, how the greens stay put, through colour, wind and snow, silently, until it was summer again.
That familiarity. This summer.
To, a volume of what needs staying put.
Love.
17th February 2019
11:57 am.
This familiarity tugs along similar to music.
Like a certain tune that lightens your mood, or a certain other that tears it up, but ever so carefully, just in a few places, like how they say, an oxymoron- leaving one strong and soft at the same time.
Strong and soft. Maybe it is a good deal after all.
Likewise, the music and the familiarity that asks you, silently, to stay put.
Like, how the greens stay put, through colour, wind and snow, silently, until it was summer again.
That familiarity. This summer.
To, a volume of what needs staying put.
Love.
17th February 2019
11:57 am.
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