People are complicated and they are everywhere and these two simple facts alone are enough to make all the tender frightened bits inside of me claw for solitude. I don’t know who I am more afraid of the crowds or myself when I’m being swallowed by them but either way the sheer overwhelming magnitude of people reflecting on their year as the next decade approaches has my skin crawling with angst. Up above my little useless worrying, the winter sky spreads itself in gray washed white, draped like a dusty old curtain behind the pointy beckoning reaches of empty trees. The soul which is stirring, breathing, in my lungs is attentive to the strangeness of the moisture in the cold spring-like air. The scent of decay somehow intermixed with the dew melting like icicles nestled in brown grass. People are alone. They are alone inside their bodies and even when you are with them this is so. Even if you think you know what they are like or what they are thinking you are only ever one percent right at best. They are a million times more complicated on the inside than they are allowed to be on the outside. I do not know if this is useful but it is a thing I learned this year. I also don’t think I want to focus so much on being useful anymore. Useful has broken me so hard so many times. Useful has severed me from myself and made me into nothing. Isn’t that just a way to make a human a commodity? When you behold a beautiful flower and marvel at the red velvet of its soft petals bursting forth like cherry, the very last thing you would ever say is, Oh my, how useful. No, no. As the wheel turns, as time inevitably passes and skims its faint fingers along your tingling spine, I want you to hold me and think of me like a beautiful, intricate flower, unfolding just for you to lose yourself in, to drink from, or the rain coming down in the heat of summer, soaking you like the dark wet soil, to your mysterious intimate core.
Allison Marie Conway 
“Isn’t that just a way to make a human a commodity? When you behold a beautiful flower and marvel at the red velvet of its soft petals bursting forth like cherry, the very last thing you would ever say is, Oh my, how useful. No, no. As the wheel turns, as time inevitably passes and skims its faint fingers along your tingling spine, I want you to hold me and think of me like a beautiful, intricate flower, unfolding just for you to lose yourself in, to drink from, or the rain coming down in the heat of summer, soaking you like the dark wet soil, to your mysterious intimate core.”
I enjoy the way you write. This passage is so rich in flavor and description.
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I am so glad you think so, that you enjoy. I have always loved paying very close attention to all the things. 🙂
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Beautiful post as always…you write what everyone is afraid to say or think.
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I am so grateful for your heartfelt words, thank you. Thank you for spending time. ❤
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“Only on me, the lonely one,
The unending stars of the night shine,
The stone fountain whispers its magic song,
To me alone, to me the lonely one
The colorful shadows of the wandering clouds
Move like dreams over the open countryside.
Neither house nor farmland,
Neither forest nor hunting privilege is given to me,
What is mine belongs to no one,
The plunging brook behind the veil of the woods,
The frightening sea,
The bird whir of children at play,
The weeping and singing, lonely in the evening, of a man secretly in love.
The temples of the gods are mine also, and mine
the aristocratic groves of the past.
And no less, the luminous
Vault of heaven in the future is my home:
Often in full flight of longing my soul storms upward,
To gaze on the future of blessed men,
Love, overcoming the law, love from people to people.
I find them all again, nobly transformed:
Farmer, king, tradesman, busy sailors,
Shepherd and gardener, all of them
Gratefully celebrate the festival of the future world.
Only the poet is missing,
The lonely one who looks on,
The bearer of human longing, the pale image
Of whom the future, the fulfillment of the world
Has no further need. Many garlands
Wilt on his grave,
But no one remembers him.”
— Hermann Hesse, The Poet, 1911
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This is absolutely beautiful, it brought tears to my eyes. I will treasure this. Thank you so much, Pierre. ❤
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I thought it resonated with the spirit of what you wrote, and I knew you’d understand.
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Yes. It is just perfect.
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Have you ever read the writer “Kosinski”. He is one of my favorites. Your words remind me of his words. Direct, honest and realistic thoughts for the reader to grasp. I believe the goal of us, who love to write. Thank you dear Allison for sharing your amazing work and have a safe and fun New year.
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I will have to look into the works of Kosinski, I am not familiar. Thank you for your kind words and the recommendation. Wishing you a safe and fun New Year in return, dear John. 🙂
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Some of his books are movies. Most famous “Being there”. Won a academy award. I believe his best. “Painted bird”. He was a wonder. Learn English in one year, a degree from Yale and published books in three years after he left Germany. He killed himself. You are welcome and Happy New year and I wish you great happiness and success in 2020.
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How very fascinating.
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