White Text - 03

whitetext was a private livejournal account I kept following a breakup in 2004. The entries came from a deep depression. They have been recollected here for data preservation.

sitting in a cozy coffeehouse sipping down my favorite droughts and chatting over philosophy seems like a dream to me now, but not long ago that was how i lived my days. i can remember sitting with friends and playing go or chess and discussing philosophy, history, and fantasy. anything is fair game over a cup of java, especially when your greatest true worry is about the person you’re with. maybe it was a time of innocence for me, but that is irrelevant. it was my golden time, and that which i will fight to get back to.

people argued over whether destiny was real, or whether we had an infinite number of possibilities. i used to say it didn’t matter, since we would invariably choose only one path, and that path would become our past. i enjoyed the thought that destiny was there, but it was you that created it. i suppose the question we should have asked is whether that destiny had a set plan for us; i should have wondered whether our futures had a purpose. perhaps that is what some people think of as destiny after all.

a coffeehouse, like a bookstore, has certain types of people, and while varied in themselves, you can expect the same varying groups at almost any place you go to. the same is true of many things, i suppose. i can always find my past when i visit a diner in the middle of the night. and i can always see myself when i glance between the shelves of the metaphysical section, even if it is bare. just the other day i walked through the shelves at a local bookstore and noticed the smell immediately. although the rest of the store had the smell of new bindings and clean shelves, that small metaphysical section spelled heavily of patchouli. it brought a smile to me.

patchouli is one of very few scents that always bring back sweet memories. with white musk, the other fragrance, i’m transported back into a blue haze of happy thoughts. the scents were people to me at first, and then groups, and now they represent a time. i see individuals at there best and recall my best moments with them. i smell the hair of a girl i loved, the aroma of my friends car, the inside of my favorite hat, and a trip to the shore early in the middle of the night.

there is not time like the past, for it will always be there ever unchanging. it, unlike the future or present, will grow more wondrous and happy with time as the bad memories fade and leave only the happy thoughts. no, it is most certain that you can never go back there, and would never want to either, because to go back to the past would make it so much less. the past is flawless.

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