It was the potentiality that made my school days beautiful – everything ahead, waiting to be conquered by this mighty warrior. The firsts were great: first crush, first “this is more than just a crush,” first, this is more than just a crush for her also. And the new books, black on white, knowledge waiting to be soaked up and embodied. And those glorious dreams of what were to come: the ideal life, the beautiful family, the high paying, high status job, making a difference in the world.
Funny. I never did read any of those books. I never asked any of those girls out. I never had a status job. I never started my own family. But, something about the potentiality of the memory makes the time passed still beautiful. For the beauty is not in the accomplishment, but in the moments. Moments are divine – the light ones, the dark ones, the tragedies scaring our souls, the tears washing away what we are not ready to hold on to.
Today I opened a fresh new book and soaked in a flashback to the potentiality of moments that would never be realized in the future, but were still beautiful. Beautiful, because possibility in and of itself is beautiful. Just like hope is beautiful. Just like love is beautiful. Just like living is beautiful.
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