Time molds vivid memories from one’s past into the building blocks of one’s writing…For this Building Block, let’s put to rest any character who professes that life is without oddities…where every day is normality centric…and let us disprove it with some oddities of life.
For example, when you are at the doctor’s for an ailment, the nice assistants all politely great you with “Good morning, and how are you today?”
Do you know someone who disagrees that Mother Nature enjoys becoming ‘iffy’ when we need good weather for the big game? (Or, an ‘I’m a true Scrabble person’ who thinks ‘iffy’ is not a Merriam-Webster word.)
Ever wonder why the only public restroom is closed for cleaning when you really need to use it?
Think about your ‘building blocks’; we can not write without them.
At 14 years of age, he stood in front of his house waiting for a ride to a club meeting. In addition to the two children of the parent driving, there would be a girl that lived near them. At 16 he knew that every teenage heart throb movie and every love lost song was written about her. Even if he had the courage to ask her out, she lived on the other side of the city. At 18 he saw her for the last time; they were at the same event, and she agreed to sit next to him for a while. Like that day four years prior, he vividly remembers sitting next to her; but not the words they spoke. However, the word ‘love’ never became associated with her presence or memory. Desire for her presence, yes…not ‘I love you.’
In the years that followed the last time he saw her, he would meet girls that he would date, and eventually three that he would fall in love over; one he would marry. Then one day, at age 65, he was pondering why the three women he truly felt the emotion of love for were each physically different and had different personalities. It was then that he realized they had one thing in common, her smile. Strange he thought, why hadn’t he used the term ‘I love her’? The answer he believes is that she was shy and timid around him, and he respected her emotional privacy.
Age is a paradox
it refocuses your eyes
if but only on the memories you hide
Love is a puzzle
it clouds what one feels, sees, and hears
only to be focused by the years
And when you see clearly
when you grasp that which was missed
you think back
and you truly miss a first kiss
(age is a paradox © Steven S. Walsky, September 29, 2017)