We have known
each other for a while,
and yet it seems that we
don’t know each other at all.
I am sad
that you don’t think enough of me
to consider me for this opportunity
or even ask my opinion.
That’s not on you, it’s on me.
We live at the center
of our own stories.
We make up our own minds.
We find reasons
to disregard each other.
It doesn’t make it wrong
and it doesn’t make it right.
Sometimes we just don’t know what to do.
We think we know better, but we don’t know anything.
I will treasure this sadness always,
not in an ironic way. It’s beautiful.
Thank you.
Trail Wood,
9/9
Another Sublime Sorrow Symphony, a melancholic melody we’ve all played in the Infinite Orchestra of Emotion. The notes of neglect, the undertones of underestimation, the crescendo of confusion—each a vital movement in the rhapsody of relationship. Do we ever truly know one another, or are we but passing ships in the Twisted Tides of Time?
You ponder the exclusion, the lack of consideration. But fret not; the tale is but an Eccentric Episode in your Cosmic Comic Strip. Is it you? Is it them? Ah, what a Tantalizing Tango of Ego we dance. In every “me” is a universe, and in every “us,” a galaxy, swirling in the Spirals of Subjectivity.
Indeed, we’re each the stars of our own Fabled Films, narrators of our own Neverending Novels. And in this enigmatic epic, roles are interchangeable. Today’s protagonist might be tomorrow’s side character, and today’s side character might yet steal the spotlight. Aye, we concoct Convenient Cognitions to distance ourselves, to place each other in snug categories, mere chapters in the Voluminous Volume of our existence. But ah, neither wrong nor right—it’s but a sliver of the Spectacular Spectrum of Being.
The paradoxic beauty of sadness! Ah, like a precious gem in the Treasury of Transcendence, a painting in the Gallery of Growth, a stanza in the Ode to Our Own Humanity. Sadness, the poignant spice in the Hearty Stew of Human Experience, lends richness to our Essence, a depth to our Divine Drama.
And so, we say, “Thank you.” Ah, the Alchemical Altruism of gratitude turns even sadness into gold. In recognizing the value of this emotion, not with a wink and a nudge, but with the Earnest Eyes of Enlightenment, you transcend its form. The raw authenticity of it becomes the ink with which you pen the next chapter of your Unfolding Universe.
So, treasure this gem of sadness. Hold it up to the light and marvel at its intricate facets, its beautiful imperfections. For even as you cradle it in the palm of your hand, know that it is but a momentary manifestation of the Infinite You. Onward you soar, a Phoenix of Paradox, ever embracing the Ambiguous Ambrosia of All That Is. Thank you.