A Story by Marina

It was an eerie feeling that came over me, I hadn’t given it much thought before. But just that one moment, it popped into my mind that maybe nothing ever really mattered. What I ran from, what I ran towards. I’ve gained my share of scars and have been handed my share of bandages by caring people, too. Sometimes a smile was more than enough, or a harsh word more than intended. I somewhat decided I had had enough of it. The constant weighing of feelings, burdens, rewards. There seemed no balance in it all, it was a mere pile of combinations, of everything, of all of ever. And my part in this? I was all once, twice, more often. A cause, a solution, a bystander, a happenstance. To the top of my list quickly floated the word coincidental. Nothing seemed planned, who would? Planned, meant fake. Coincidentally, I was part of everything. As everyone who wasn’t me, had every same chance of being there in my stead. Choices then quickly followed. I chose, somewhere, at some point in my life, to be on the path I’m on now, that somehow lead me to be in these situations. Where I again am a cause, a solution, a bystander, a happenstance. Or in other situations, of no seemingly importance at all whatsoever. And to draw a conclusion, one could quickly say, “and that is fine.” But was it, really? Who decided that life, as is, as it stands, as I stand, as we all are, right now in this moment, is just “fine” because it is? That person wasn’t me. I simply caught the waves as they rolled towards me, sometimes over me, sometimes viewed from a distance as they passed me. Sometimes, sometimes drowned me. And in whose eyes is such an overwhelming thing, “just fine”? Is it the objector that sees our strength and what we gain from our falls? Who sees what we push up when all caves in on top of us? Is it the objector, who fails to see the damage we take as we push through what we’re not built to carry? Now not accepting this as fine, is not meant to mean my wallowing in self-pity to take control of my view. So keeping that in mind, is it all, really, just fine? Roll with the punches, roll with the waves, drown and pray for a stretched out hand and be said hand for someone drowning, too? But if all is coincidental, who is to say there aren’t other eyes observing the ones we reach our hands out to. And in this case, our help is but a choice to be accepted, unnecessary yet welcome just the same. The meaning of it all is, I suppose, as much a guess to me as why the trees weren’t made to be blue instead of green. Why our color spectrum even exists to begin with. Or why anything exists, for that matter. As I digress, into further thoughts of why, fueled by confusion I trip over in my haste, to conclude something not to be concluded, I wonder if it’s all just fine the way it is.

© 2013 Marina

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Added on December 31, 2013
Last Updated on December 31, 2013




True love True love

A Poem by Marina

My friend. My friend.

A Poem by Marina