“What is the earliest memory that you can think of?” I pondered… and in my pondering something struck me from the inside. I was three, getting pushed on the swing as the rays of the sun hit my face. I remember what I was wearing, who was pushing me; the days where I would sit on the same swing talking to the wind years later, this moment.
And the more I pieced together this memory, the more I wondered about our brains, about the tiny little shocks of electricity that surge from one neuron to the next – it’s amusing, if I’m being honest. But at the same time, it’s such a fucking crime, not being able to truly understand what really goes on inside our minds. Because even right now, as my fingers dance over these keys, hundreds of thousands of neurons are banning together to create a new path, a bridge, and I don’t even know it.
Can you feel it? Can I feel it?
Maybe we can feel it.
Maybe we can feel it in-between the moments when something takes our breath away. Maybe it’s when we lock eyes. Maybe it’s when we touch and the sparks flutter between our fingertips. Maybe it’s why we close our eyes when we kiss.
And then I wonder how you see me. Does your heart race a little faster? Do I make you feel all warm and tingly? Can you live without me?
Because I look at you, I look at you and see this crazy journey. I look at you, and see the journey that led me to this moment with you. I look at you, and I only see you. It’s a journey that is still smaller than a spot of dust, and doesn’t even weigh the same as a single grain of sand.
And yet I still cling onto it, so fucking tight, because it is ours.
What is a miracle?
Is it life returning to you after your heart stops beating? Is it meeting someone by chance? Is it falling harder than the last time?
Because I look at you, I look at you, and see something I have never seen before. I look at you, and see how your eyes shine when you look into mine. I look at you, and there’s only us.
Because there are moments that take our breath away, and this moment is mine.
And I wonder if we lived our lives in reverse, could we then let go of the things that are yet to happen. Because within all the moments that I would relive, I would want to worry less. I would want to just be in those moments.
Because I would be able to relive those moments that I have far left behind.
And maybe, just maybe, I would have the nerve to hang onto them a little bit harder. I would know exactly how they would influence my choices later. I would be able to cherish them a little more.
Maybe it would allow me to hang onto everything that I have now with a tighter grip.
And Albert Einstein once wrote, “There are only two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle.” You could look at one person, and see just that, a person. You will never know their name, where they grew up, if they are hurting. You could see another person, know them – inside and out – and still not know them… you know?
You look at me, what do you see?
I look at you and see everything, our journey.
I look at you.
Maybe perception is the real miracle.
But maybe, just maybe, the miracle is us.