I have been thinking and wondering what it means to live and what life's meaning is to me specifically.
This being due to me sometimes finding myself mourning things I've never done.
Like dancing with Lou Reed in studio 54 or being photographed by Andy.
Then I think, isn't that funny? To mourn over times I was never a part of. And it made no sense to be sad over such things. But even as I sit in the park on a beautiful Sunday afternoon I am filled with melancholy, thinking there's only so many extraordinary things a person can do in an ordinary city filled by ordinary people.
But what is ordinary? When there's something exciting in all of us, it's only hard to see. I interact with strangers every day, only briefly, knowing nothing of their lives but the sound of their voice and what they have chosen to eat for lunch today. But these are humans with thoughts like mine.
And you knew this, I only point the color of the sky that we walk underneath every day. But sometimes we forget to look up at it, I try not to. And such small action, looking at the moon which I've been gazing at for twenty years, an extra minute before going back into the real world, makes my evening a little bit extraordinary.