Annotating

The deep, heartfelt ache, heaviness piled onto shoulders; the feeling of unattainable past experiences, the moments of mere temporary bliss, the unavoidable changes. No permanency tacked down, solely feelings of mourn for the moments that no longer exist. Nights spent lying awake, eyes crusty and tired, thinking of the next moment that will slip away. Consistency lacking: no apple is as crispy as the next, or light lit the same way. Clouds shifting shapes at every glance: there’s no sense of consistency. These words, though. These words have persisted; through centuries and lives. The meaning transforms with language, significance, thought, and interpretation. Forever, there will be folkloric tales eternally told. Scrawled opinions tucked in the margins, taking note of the emotion felt in the morning light, because it might change by the evening glow. The printed text, however, persists with its’ permanency. Letters written to lovers, etched into the front flap of a cover. Used novels with broken spines, gifted with notes crammed between paragraphs: practically a physical confession of love. A concept so difficult to grasp: mortality bearing the gift of abbreviations, but words made of ink and laid on pieces of parchment, battle the non-permanency of humanity, with its consistent sense of corporality. Thoughts of interpretation, bare a human’s soul. The dedication, of a timeless work of words, bare a human’s soul.