Remembering is so muted and strange. In certain moments—That One Time, Happy and then a vague, dark ineffable pining that threatens to undermine any kind of solid joy, forever.
There’s been a cloud cover all week at the beach. Every morning there is a grey-blue-white haze that covers over everything and every evening, as the sun goes down, the landscape competes with the sky to see which one can appear more gorgeously contrary. The atmosphere appears more than gold, it seems bright orange and the ground is coal black and brooding, forever.
It makes me wonder how many other people are looking out at their landscape and struggling with or embracing everything they remember and it makes me weary from that feeling of connection (it feels so vast) but filled with longing that we’re all able to periodically relax with all of it and just gaze up at the astonishing beauty of the nighttime sky.
Yours In Everything,
Tina Too Much