it's inexplicable, the way you're hit with a certain kind of wistfulness on more dreary days. everyone pales in comparison today, and everything loses its sheen. under the sun, the world is too bright, every light particle reflecting off metallic car paint too blinding to be real. it's an unending parking lot filled with cars as far as the eye can see, glittering prettily in the sun. but that's not really how it is.

we can imagine all kinds of scenarios that generate the wistfulness we never feel, in a messy apartment and with only schoolbooks for companionship. in the shady branches of an oak tree, maybe, wind flowing through hair and clothes, with nothing but our hearts and minds and maybe for the more practical, a pen and notepad. on the top of a mountain overlooking the sea, in the middle of aldrich park behind the big tree, in a cafe in paris sipping the most classic cappuccino while the world passes by as if nothing's wrong, nothing can ever stop it.

we'd look up into the night sky on the steps of a deserted temple in rural china and think that maybe for a few seconds, time has stopped and we can catch our breath. that we'd have more time to write down our lives instead of writing down our history. nights are longer when we can see the galaxy, an ironically bitter reminder of specks of time and the insignificance of our existence in the grand scheme of things.

some thoughts can only be put into words that make up cliches. in the back of our minds, we know that overrating cliches is overrated, and the person looking for love is no different than the person looking for forgiveness. to write something means losing the essence but keeping the shell. no matter how well-written a piece is, it is no more than an account of sentimentality. emotions can't be put into words, and the attempt touches only the surface. we would write in our heads, in those imaginary places, and type them out later as if words are enough to justify humanity.

it's not, and there's nothing we can do other than appease our own desire to leave reminders for the future. reminders that are nowhere close to the truth, but certainly more than real enough.