Sunlight on Fragmented Windows
There's a beam of sunshine lighting the window outside the upstairs studio in Heinbold. I sit here with one of the warmest people I've ever met, S. She is silently working on her Art project, and all I can think about is the piece of writing she has hanging behind her. It explains her most noble piece of jewelry, a necklace her dead best friend left behind. The ink describes the symbolic act of sporting this wonderful cheap gold, and how it "whispers words of wisdom to her heart." My eyes fill with tears, and I think. I sit here, pondering, why does human affection leave me with depression? Why does it drive me into the ground hoping for more?
Recently I wrote about how experimenting with drugs, alcohol, morals, sex, and other inappropriate interactions are all excellent as long as they make you feel. I didn't realize there's a whole world out there of the purest things, like this magical literature my dear friend has wrote. It made me feel more than I have felt in a while.
Maybe experience is what we need to feel