Wont you celebrate with me
that our breath still has trees to feed,
and the grass beneath our feet
can still be overrun with weeds.
That our thoughts are still ours,
unless we wish to share,
but there are plenty of people to listen,
and just about enough who will care.
Won’t you celebrate with me
that everyday is new,
that our memories are imperfect,
fragmented, and few.
That our brains will hold onto them
until we wish to forget,
and we can rewrite ourselves
using the world as our outlet.
The truth about forever: It doesn’t last.
I was thinking today about logic vs emotion, as I pretty much always do. And a thought occurred to me. I was wondering if the first law of thermodynamics says that energy is neither created nor destroyed, only transferred, how then can your love for someone follow exponential growth unless it exponentially decays at someone else’s love? It would be logical to then think that it was your own love that was decreasing as you were giving it to someone else, I suppose, and that is why you need someone to love you in return. But that still doesn’t account for the seemingly spontaneous creation of this love to begin with. But then I moved on to the second law of thermodynamics: Entropy. Entropy allows that heat will always transfer towards the cold. That in reactions that are spontaneous, such as love, the chaos will increase. I couldn’t figure out why if I felt pain, it couldn’t take away the pain of someone I love. Why there didn’t seem to be an equilibrium if everything must be conserved. But it’s all lost eventually. Every reaction, interaction, we lose heat. We lose our energy and we give it to love and that love is no longer in circulation. It can’t be recycled. It just exists with the person we left it with. And that’s exactly where it should be.
The history in our heart strings strikes a chord,
and the syllables in my lullaby sound out sore.
The wind doesn’t cradle me anymore,
and neither do your arms.
The leaves of fall are turning fast,
setting fire to the mountainside, a light to cast
its shadow upon our together past,
and the sunlight’s angled low.
Perhaps my song the wind will carry
with flames of autumn traveling wary
through mountain thin air, please don’t tarry,
‘cause winter’s knocking on my door.
With snow to chill beneath my bones
and muffle the sound of heartfelt tones.
Under its weight, bare trees will groan
and the fire won’t shine no more.
Just a doodle I conjured one day last year. I love flying pigs :)
Me: why are you so wonderful and patient with me?
Chris: I think people think I’m patient for a single thing i’ve learned, actually from listening to a tree one day
Chris: i learned that time moves slowly
Chris: so slowly
Chris : so much more slowly than everyone thinks
Me: and most of the time we move too quickly for it
Chris: yes, but when you listen to trees, you can feel it
Chris: you feel how fast you are
Chris: in a sense, i guess i’ve learned to be as patient as a tree
Chris: not because i have to try
Chris: but because time is so slow
Chris: i can do whatever i want
Chris: i have so much time, i can almost live forever
Chris: here, this will help you feel it:
Chris: this whole conversation
Chris: has taken us but an hour
Chris: in a single hour, we’ve learned and experienced so much
Chris: my life is thousands of hours
Chris: that’s forever to me
Chris: so of course i am patient with you
Chris: i want to walk the depths of time with you
Chris: and we can go wherever we want, of course
Chris: we certainly don’t have anywhere to be anytime soon
Chris: so if you ask me why i’m patient
Chris: i’ll tell you it’s because i’m as slow as a tree.
Chris: and that’s all it is.