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A most irrational bucket list
I’d love to walk for a day with my eyes closed, just to feel the ultimate joy of moving decisively, without the agony of decision.
I’d love to live on the ocean. On the blackest of nights, when the fog is thick and impenetrable and the rain surges sideways with a vengeance blocking out the moon, I want to hear the soft hoot of the foghorn. Soothed by its solitary resilience, I can finally allow sleep to wash over, that final wave pulling me under.
I’d love to bottle up the sky before a storm. Selfishly stopper up the perfect blue that stretches above, innocent and powerful and beyond all human comprehension. Through the aqua abyss, I can see it gathering, subtle, but growing all the time, a billowing crevice of darkness splitting the tranquil ocean.
In a few moments, the schism will block out the blue,
But for now I can stand on the rift, in both the darkness and the light.
I’d love to ride a motorcycle. To feel the freedom of inhuman speed, the thrill of teetering on the edge of disaster. No voices to heed, only the wind, loud and sharp and whipping away all inhibitions. In a world of unhappiness, rules, and boundaries: a place to call home. A place to leave the fragile illusion of people and places in a cloud of dust and exhaust.
I’d love to see the world as the tiniest of bug. All car windshields aside, no rules to abide, but the tide of life to ride. With each end of night, the ultimate victory of survival is declared, and a new battle made ready to fight; When a life is measured in hours, every moment is magnificent.
I’d love to take the New England fall with me to college.
Put a lid on the collage of crimson infused with fire and gold. I want never to forget the beauty born from the dying of a thousand leaves. Soon they will drop from their perches atop the world, soon the trees will be bare, withered and lifeless like their leaves that crunch underfoot, leaves that once stood out, a fiery mass against a pale icy October sky.
I’d love to capture moments. To keep a smiling face, a giggling baby, a look of love, protected safely in my subconscious. So even when the sun disappears, and neglect replaces joy, I will never feel the bitter cold of sorrow.
I’d love to fly without the metal, commotion, and claustrophobia of an airplane. Thirty thousand feet up, even the most monumental evil is dwarfed. Interstates cut like scars into the land, the painful price of progress. Farms are squares of purest green in a patchwork of life. The small oasis we dare to inhabit disappears; an insignificant blotch against far greater blue horizon. From here, our blue planet is exposed, simple, silent, and small.
I’d love if everyone would tell the truth. I wish, for just moment, for clarity to shatter the inertia of politeness.
I wish for them see through untainted eyes, that the greater evil is not the havoc wrought by angry words, but the heartbreak, slowly solidified by the significance of silence.
I’d love to be a snowflake. Become part of the only beings to truly comprehend death. Harmless little suicide bombers, superior to any other, they accept fate, submit to its finality with purpose and poise.
Like an oblivious army, they cascade in perfect unison;
how many of us can say we reached for the end, dove for it, comrades alongside us, perfection within our grasp.