The fragile

Word sketches from my notebook. 9 June, 2023.

There are these fleeting moments I often think about transforming into written words.

I imagine them written down as tiny, dark nuggets on the page, capturing the essence of real life in bite-sized form.

These moments, they just exist, unencumbered by grand intellectual narratives — no beginning, middle or end.

They are like slices of fruit, freshly cut, open and exposed.

I find myself worrying about their survival, out there, alone.

These words remind me of newly hatched birds, fallen from their nests, their bulging, purple-sealed eyes not yet opened to the world. They're fragile, floundering.

Underexposed snapshots of light

What if these words, like those vulnerable birds, can't survive on their own in the fresh air? What if they're not substantial enough to endure beyond a first read?

These underexposed snapshots of light and shadow fill me up, creating a surge within my hollow chest.

They're bursting for a chance at life, desperate to take that risk of not surviving.

They want to reach out into the air, if only for a moment, to burst into light, and then fade away, like the diminishing volume at the end of a song.

Finding their place

As I think about these fleeting moments, I wonder about their impact. Will they resonate with others as they do with me? Will their essence linger, or will they vanish, leaving only a faint trace behind?

In these reflections, there's a rhythm, a flow of thoughts, like waves gently lapping at the shore, each one a fleeting glimpse into life's depth.

Perhaps there's beauty in their transience, in the way these moments, delicate and ephemeral, touch our lives briefly yet profoundly.

And so, with a hopeful heart, I release these words into the world, like birds taking flight, trusting that even in their fragility, they will find their place.