| why georgia |
[Aug. 10th, 2008|05:23 am] |
I find myself asking, "Why?" a lot.
Ever since I was a little girl, sitting in the middle of an open field with no one but my dad, listening to the grass sway and shimmy in the wind.
The sky was a beautiful crystal blue, almost to the point where you wanted to just jump right on up there with the clouds and swim in it.
There was nothing around but the sound of plants and sky and clouds and my own thoughts.
They were never thoughts of misery or woe at this time in my life.
The only thing that profoundly stood out from everything swimming around in that sea of thoughts was the one, simple question:
Why?
"Why are the clouds the only ones who get to enjoy the sky's company, Daddy?"
"Why are there no trees or birds around me?"
"Why can't I live here forever?"
and most importantly,
"Why am I here?"
Not wondering why I was in such a dream of a place, but simply wondering of my own existance.
I still question it, to this day.
Except what seem to be more meaningful questions are appearing, as well.
Things like:
"Why doesn't he miss me, like I do him?"
"Why are people so ignorant?"
"Why can't they just see the world like I do?"
"Why am I not happy?"
"Why are colors and sounds and small things not as pleasing to me as they used to be?"
I tend to wonder a lot why the world has changed, for someone like me.
Why things can't be as simple as they used to be.
Why I had to question my own meaning after Collin left me.
Why I don't love myself.
All sorts of why's.
I may never find the answer to it, either, but I do know this:
I want to find my dream field.
The field I have painted in my head.
Nothing but perfect, yellow daffodils for miles.
No rolling hills.
No trees.
Just the ocean, meeting a plain field of golden sunshine in flower form, and have a small breeze going.
And when I do find it, I'll sit within the flowers and stare straight at the sky, at the clouds, at the perfect blue,
that I used to when I was young and knew the entire beauty of the world.
"'Cause I wonder sometimes, about the outcome of a still verdictless life."
- John Mayer, Why Georgia |
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contemplative