He was walking along a narrow and dimly lit corridor, when he happened upon a piece of parchment lying on the floor. To his knowledge, he was alone, and so it came as a surprise to him that he was holding in his hands a tattered letter. Straining his eyes against the hazy, yellow light of an old street lamp, he blew away the dust from the letter, and started reading:
It was indeed, the most beautiful sound he’d ever heard.
He could probably spend days listening to it, and never get tired of hearing it. He could be forever lost in that moment, and yet he’d feel no need to return back the way he came from. As far as he could tell, this rapturous feeling was the closest to heaven that he’d ever felt. He could not bear it in his heart to depart.
We live in a world where a man’s status in life is determined by the material things that surround him. It is a bleak and hollow world wherein we endlessly crave for more; the latest, the most fashionable, the most expensive. We’ve lost count of the simple things in life that truly matter, and for those who still do, they’re the ones who end up being branded as fools.
I was probably in High School back then, when I wrote in my essay that the treasure that I cherished the most would be the memories that I’ve gathered over the years. Looking back, my whole life must have been one sentimental value after another; a smooth stone tells a story of a mall trip with friends, unclaimed arcade tickets tell the story of how I have yet to win in our shooting contest. A guitar string would remind me of my youth, how I’d be walking across the park singing, guitar in hand like a troubadour in an idyllic town.
Melancholic musings will always be a part of anyone who has ever felt low, or has at one point in their life felt so miserable from doing the things that ought to have meant something to them. You start out with that smile painted on your face, and yet by the end of the day, the smile starts to fade and discolor from the moisture brought about by your own tears. As night slowly creeps in to snatch any trace of light, you try to comfort yourself by hiding yourself in your own personal sanctum, dreading the coming of events that will once again leave you drained, and lifeless.