Appreciation

I have found myself a microcosm. I have a habit of creating worlds where there were once none.

I’m surrounded by people who fascinate me. It’s not the colors of their eyes that entice me nor the ways in which they walk. Their various accents, constant reminders of our differences, only fleetingly amused me. I’m not amazed by what they are.

Someone here loves purity because he feels himself to be impure. He seeks truth in numbers and sounds. He pointed to an arch and stated, “I could write a series of equations to represent the exact curvature of that stone.” Bach poured out of his speaker as he said this. I believed him.

Someone else here loves everything that frightens me: verbal affirmations, holding hands, walking slowly. I give these things to her and in return she winks and squeezes my shoulder. I like to watch her fountain ponytail splash as she races to catch up with her friends, her wide sleeves flowing beside her.

And another someone has confronted emotions in a way that I know I never will. He captures meaning so crisply in word, and a simple sentence is enough to make me silent. We watched the sky darken until it nearly matched the blackness of the high roof. But there will always be a line that divides.

When I’m around these people, I’m so very aware of the things that I lack. I look around and wonder at the size of the cosmos. I despair that I’ll never be able to understand everything. And then I look at my new friends.

I don’t need to understand everything as long as I can simply appreciate the bits of worlds that fall into my hands.