Letters to Q.
This is it.
Sometimes I would like to trade with you. You start every moment with here and now, in this moment. Everything before does not seem to be restored or forgotten where by the tear you dropped, the pain you felt or the discomfort you felt dried up again, like it never existed. And so before there was nothing so things are non existed and irrelevant.
We, adults, want to be mature but we don’t seem to be. Every restored memory makes us fearful and melancholy because we think more about misery than everything beautiful. We, adults, know very well what happened in our memories. The injection we felt, the room we were lost in, the news we found out that writes it self like a diary.
And you sit in your bed and look up at the world with bright eyes. Everything that happened in the moments before is lost. We worry about things in the past and future. We go to courses to learn how to breath or listen to our heart and we practice living in the here and now by drinking our cup of coffee too hot so we have to stop drinking and then our minds wander of.
We digress. We make up scary fairytales and demarkate our thoughts just to keep ourselves safe from any news we might get. In the meanwhile, for you, there’s only a hug, a smile and the most important people nearby that matters most.
This very moment. The moment where everything is quiet. That’s it. Only that.