Shreds of an Archive

blurry photograph (ex #2)

Happiness to me is a sacred piece of art to be observed, to be wondered at, but never to be touched.

There are times where I am surrounded by immeasurable warmth. Times where certain moments are perfect in their own flawed and defective manner, where I sit with my legs crossed on a wooden porch, as the sun beats down on my skin charitably heating up my soul. The conversation of me and my friend is accompanied by a chess board, as well as a hot cup of coffee. The chess board is missing pieces, which were replaced by various items that were found lying about the house. It was such a beautiful moment, captured in a vivid photograph taken by my mind.

I no longer experience perfection like this in my life. The light hues of orange and blue have been smudged beyond recognition, muddied until they are unrecognizable. A moment of dancing words and wrinkled eyes, of the curious unknown that fills up my chest with excitement until I feel like I have everything; moments like these no longer exist for me. Words have become too heavy to life and too complex to grasp. My eyes no longer wrinkle as my lips raise and my cheeks muscles contract. Discoveries feel pointless, burdened by a feeling of dread as they will soon be revealed to amount to nothing.

At some point in my life, a pane of glass has formed in my mind, slowly becoming more opaque, obscuring what I once knew. I can no longer reach passed this wall, only briefly glance through it to times where I could love the warmth of the sun as it broke through the cover of clouds.