The last firework scattered across the sky in fading sparkles and we, scattered across the lake - separate and yet together, watched with baited breath as the fireworks died off. That's it, that's it, that's it (and that's alright.)
"They look like stars." I whisper, eyes half shut with the surreality - even more than the consistent surreality that addles our brains - of the situation. This isn't real, but it is and it's one of those legitimate 'existential' moments. I reach out and pick at the grass absently. "They're beautiful."
And they are.
They are.
ReplyDeleteAnd they are only beautiful because they are so fucking temporary.
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I don't know. I'm not sure how I feel about that. I don't think so, to be quite honest. Pictures of fireworks are still beautiful. They're existential and all of those fun words because they're temporary, but that's not what makes them beautiful. I think they just are and there's no reason behind why they are. They just are.
ReplyDelete