My love has no apologies, and no respect for me.

I wonder what these people felt at this very moment.

It’s always curious, we look to photographs and movies, seeing the marvel in these moments captured on film, frozen in time.  We notice every little detail, every nuance that makes this instance truly unique, beautiful, and grand; but we never understand that people can view our very own lives in this same way, because we never are afforded that same chance to view it in such a way, a distant, discerning eye.

We fail to take the same interest in our own moments, our own memories, the way an outsider can with a photograph.  And I think, in that sense, we lose out on ever fully understanding our humanity.

But maybe, keeping a distance from this understanding, this realization of unfulfilled dreams, of longing, of loves lost, of tragedies forgotten, maybe this is what keeps us alive.  We begin to bear so much weight under our memories, perhaps our only way of moving on is to not examine them, realize what they are worth.  Because, after all, aren’t they simply lost to us, could holding onto every little thing that has ever made us an inch sadder or an inch happier simply drag us down?  Are we capable of really dealing with all that life has to bestow?

So heavy.

Source: gothamist.com