I brought in Harper to talk about the mature at heart.
Context: Harper’s first friend of a line-up of 3 pairs for this year got married an exact month ago.
H: I don’t feel disembodied to the reality of this friend and the 3 others who will enter in to matrimony at such a permanent age; an age of which I tower over all of them. Accomplishment shouldn’t be measured by another halves’ perfect opinion of you. It should be trialled and tested and left to flow. Drive yourself in independence. Exhaust your pipes singing your way through the Appalachian, or shout across thunderous ocean wide. What do I value, what do they value…
FM: That seems rather opinionated. Some really do just want to settle down.
H: I’m not a harbinger of judgment. My soul is more sincere in its drive to see the world through one pair of eyes first before settling with another pair. Perhaps that is why I cannot seem to accept it as well as I hoped I would by now.
FM: So you feel like their settling means they will miss much?
H: There’s a line, of course. They have their own adventures, I have my one. The difference being is that their pairing will be permanent. There will be no “I” any longer, and you’re always on the constant lookout for the other’s thoughts in matters. Spontaneity will be overridden by assessment. And you cannot get that back anymore. Unless 1 of 2 died, of course, but we never wish that!
FM: You’ll find yourself in their position someday too. You dream of it, you’ve told us as much. They’re simply accelerating a few years before you.
H: Of course, of course. There is no doubt to it. But that is still a few years they can never have back anymore. Sure, time is not of the essence when you’re an eternal-thinker. But we are physically limited humans. Death is inevitable. And there are far too many nations, cultures, cuisines, aromas, felts, brushes, blossoms and pigmentations to wonder at. Therefore, their deep desire for permanent companionship over the immeasurable value of this amazement baffles me.
FM: You can travel together.
H: And the spontaneous trip with your girl friends or boy friends are out of the picture.
FM: You heart fill be full and fluttering and blushing.
H: A conversation with a stranger on a moonlight stroll, unprompted and naturale.
FM: A kiss or two?
H: I can wait.
FM: Tell us what you picture.
H: A quiet room with a filled bookshelf. You’re inside your covers, perhaps you’d like to turn on a movie or open to the last page of your book. Tomorrow, you fly to a cousin, an auntie eight/fifteen hours away. You create magic with your gifts, and you return home to replete.
Then again, perhaps I am overthinking it.
FM: Do your own thing and they do theirs. You’ll find both your paths, accelerated or not.
H: Thank you. That is a deep wish.
Harper loves love. She romanticises romance and often daydreams of what it would be like to be the Elizabeth Bennet to someone’s Fitzwilliam Darcy. But like Lizzie, or perhaps, dear Belle, there is a great world out there. A place that one cannot compare.
For some, that may be a person. For others, it may be the places. For Harper, it’s a little bit of both. But the former can wait, she speaks. The latter is vehemently, absolutely, for now.