heartsease

I envy the artists--the musicians, the painters, the poets. They have the power to turn a fleeting moment of simple happiness or pure serenity into something that lasts, that may outlive them even. But for us, not so. We have to struggle to just hold  and name that particular feeling that made us smile, made us sigh, made us wish. Not only for the nth time, I wish there was a button we could press somewhere in our heads, in our hearts--it doesn't matter where--that could instantly record those beautiful elusive emotions which often catch us unaware. Record and keep them somewhere... in a bottle, in a pouch--it doesn't matter--as long as we could go back and open it again and again, not only to revisit the feeling but to soak in it once more. Painters do that on their canvas, with their colours and erratic passion. You hear a beautiful song, and you know someone has immortalised his own passing joy. While the poet stops your breath by pinning down his sorrows and ecstasies with familiar words that take on new meanings. Such gifts! 

While we...we open the balcony door to breathe in the cold night air, feeling the wind on our faces. We peer at the columns of dark, impersonal apartment windows facing us and smell cigarette smoke from someone somewhere in the building who can't sleep either. And as distant laughter and faint music reach us from the city far down below, we smile. We're good. For now. And if we could, we'd have caught this quick quietude and lovingly tucked it under our pillow tonight. 

To sustain us for yet another morning. Another day. Until the next heartsease.