S. Stormy

what it is about beauty that makes us need to share it? 

 

what is it about a silent 4am snowfall in a crowded parking lot?

 

the way the snowflakes delicately glide in front of the streetlight’s beam

 

the tree next to it, shocked with frost, standing motionless in the wind like some violent monolith

 

this light snowfall isn’t enough to remove all the previous days tracks and evidences 

 

but it softens them all

rounding out edges

filling in spaces

 

like it’s healing a wound, but not forgetting it

an impression still remains

a scar perhaps

 

…

 

what is it about that flickering light in the window across the lot? why is it so alluring?

 

is it the idea that someone else is sharing this beautifully meaningless moment with me?

 

for this is an uncapturable scene

i have not the technology nor ability to package it in any shareable way

(i’m not sure anyone does really. not to capture the moment in its entirety)

 

the idea that someone else is appreciating it as well…perhaps it lessens the feeling of burden

 

the idea that this beauty lives and dies with me

 

maybe that’s why we feel the need to share beauty

 

perhaps we are all simply archivists, deeply aware of the temporal nature of it all

 

perhaps that is why i started writing this

i can’t save this moment visually, but perhaps i can linguistically 

 

is this a poem?

perhaps 

i’m certainly writing it with a sense of formality

 

why shouldn’t it be a poem?

a beautiful moment deserves beautiful prose

 

the parking lot is coming alive now 
a few choice cars ferrying their owners off to some early morning shift 

 

why does it feel like the moment is over?

 

i was just anguishing over the lack of a partner to hold this experience with me

 

and now I have evidence that it, at least it part, was viewed by a few others

 

how can i simultaneously need to share this moment, and feel that it is ruined by the presence of others?

 

am i simply narcissistic?

did i merely want the credit for sharing this moment? do i just want to play god? to act like i was the creator of this incredible moment rather than a mere passerby?

 

maybe all creatives are just playing god, taking what they are given and repackaging it into something else. 

 

maybe the real creatives deserve to.

 

who am I to share this moment? it is not mine to share

 

as if i could accurately describe its beauty in the first place

 

i’m not an archivist, i’m a thief, taking this natural beauty and making it my own.

 

the fact that i have every intention of sharing this not-poem is proof of that.

 

do i really care about the sharing itself? if i truly ask myself, am i trying to enrich others by sharing this moment, or raise myself up as some collector of beauty?

 

perhaps i could prove it to myself by not sharing this writing. let the beauty be mine and mine alone.

 

of course, that feels selfish.

this beautifully dark frosty morning isn’t mine, thats what i’ve just been saying.

 

by not sharing it, im claiming it as my own even more than I would otherwise. taking this god-given scene and refusing to let others in on its early morning secrets. 

 

so im either a clout-chasing narcissist or a selfish blasphemer.

 

hmm.

 

i haven’t even done a good job of describing the scene. the musings on motive are more than half of this document.

 

so best-case scenario, i’m not a narcissist or a blasphemer,

 

i’m just a failure.

 

this is quite the situation i’ve written myself into.

 

i haven’t even mentioned how the snow-covered roofs of the opposing buildings blend into the grey colored sky, creating an illusion of infinitesimal proportions

 

or how the snow covers each car in the lot in the same way, creating a beautiful tessellation that removes all personality but adds something much greater

 

or how there’s one single streetlamp that stands unlit, casting one area of the lot into false shadow

 

or how the light diffuses off of the snow, lighting things up in angles that would otherwise be impossible, providing an otherworldly atmosphere to the entire scene

 

or how the early morning haze cuts off any other buildings from view, seeming to leave us stranded, floating in a void of gray. 

 

ha, look at me, trying to correct for my errors while pointing them out

 

how arrogant of me

 

what a cliched methodology 

 

i am yet again a thief 

 

…

 

perhaps i should simply stop writing

 

perhaps creating art is inherently selfish 

 

perhaps sharing it is intrinsically narcissistic 

 

perhaps attempting to create is always doomed to end in failure

 

I do want to tie this experience to myself by transcribing it

 

I do want to gain clout for sharing it 

 

I definitely haven’t captured the beauty effectively, no matter how much flowery prose i sprinkle on top.

 

so i truely am a narcissist, a thief, and a failure. 

but maybe we all are

maybe that’s why we share beauty

maybe thats the real goal

to scream out to each other, silently, under all the other layers of subtext:

“i’m just like you.”