the weight of a moment

this moment has substance. if you opened this moment up, life would explode out of it like an old aerosol paint can. a little rusty and well used on the outside, but life itself comes rushing out upon contact.

i think that life is that way sometimes. we sit around willing life to pass us by, to get to the next moment, the next semester, the next season, the next relationship, the next best thing. meanwhile we miss the beautiful thing we've had all along. like an old rusty can we set deep into the shelf and forgot about.

i many beautiful moments have i hidden away deep in the darkness, dusty and forgotten? maybe, just maybe there are hundreds of them, maybe even thousands...

and what if? what if? what if i went home and scrounged in my cupboard and found all the old moments and gathered them up. and what if you went home and did the same. what if you went home and opened the creaky door, and reached far into the back, until your hand hit the wall? what if you gathered all your moments too? what if we gathered them in our hands, and ran outside. what if we ran into the front yard and threw them into a pile on the green, green grass?
and then...
what if we lit a match? what if we lit them all on fire?

and what if the heat caused them all to explode and life came rushing out?

what if instead of existing, we remembered what it was like to live?

0 mementos: