It will be September soon, spring will come. It is foggy these days. Even in the dead of night Melbourne is covered in ethereal fog. As if the entire city is intent to make the vestiges of winter a magical one. I am not partial to the bite of cold (not news). I suppose I will only miss Melbourne when I can no longer go back to it. Because to be honest, while I was home for winter break (much has happened in that rather short period), not a single thought of mine went towards this city. Then again, one can only feel at home and miss it only when the people or things they love are there to populate it. Melbourne is my alma mater. It teaches more than it comforts.
I am ever happy to frolic about with roomie and sofy. But it is a mystery to me that they never seem to feel the depths of dusk niggling at them. I do say 'seem'. Maybe they do after all. With much reservation thus, I say... perhaps not everyone feel it. Not everyone perhaps has been touched by introspection. That deep and occasionally involuntary pulling away from the present into the mind where one is faced with the soul and the heart. One becomes heedless of the world as is and enters instead into the realm of ambiguous perception.
Or I might simply be mistaking the simple act of pondering. Would not be the first time. And as always, the longing to put into writing the 'dusks' and 'depths' of humanity (love, eternity and all that tosh) nags at me. I seek only to bring into focus the vulnerability of being a creature of feeling. Just how much love and grief a person could harbor for the sake of another.
Anyway, when I do not write, I draw. And of course, the muse only rouses to which that calls to the heart. So I am not destitute. I linger still with ideas of martyrdom, nobility, stoicism and of course, the idea of ultimate love: selflessness.