Riverdale Diaries

May 19, 2013

To my left, outside of the square glass windows of my new living room, light rain is falling. It is not pouring; it is rather a sprinkle – quiet and soft, like the dance of ballerinas. I decided not to go out today. Not to the city, anyways. I woke up very early this morning, 6am, with a strange anticipation – a feeling of unknown productivity. At 1:37 pm, it is still unknown. But I’ve been reading. And I’ve been reading about reading, and about writing, and about Beauty. And maybe the strangeness that woke me up this morning, even before it woke up the sun, was just that: Beauty. The beautiful recognition that I have the day sprawled naked before me. That I can dress it however I please. The beautiful recognition that time, for the first time in a very long time, is now yielding, like a tamed lion – an obedient watch dog – letting me do with it whatever I desire. But those things are just beautiful… they’re not truly Beauty in itself, which of course, I know is unattainable. But from time to time, like it did this morning, it whispers tenderly in my ear, like a child that wants to play, urging me to search for it. And so I do. Today I will read. I’ll watch movies. And I’ll read some more. And during intervals, try to search for the beautiful child. I’ll follow it, always from a distance, until it goes back to hiding in between the creases.