lost in a landscape
of broken dreams
I found myself
confronted with the words
"and at once I knew I was not magnificent"
but I saw her smile
on the horizon
and I knew
contrary to the unification
of perfect symmetry
that she was my bon iver girl
An Ode to the Girl Who I Could Never Write
The horizon became a bleak remembrance of solitude that stung like ice winds piercing my clothes. But then I saw her smile, and the words of the poet singing "and at once I knew I was not magnificent" became a faint mirage on the horizon. The poet sang while the girl danced. And I stared at the play unfolding in front of my eyes; a perfect unity of so many contrary things.
I found myself between the endlessly unfolding horizon, the girl that remained an object standing in my way to that very horizon that seamlessly extends into nothing, and my own disorientation between everything and nothing. The world became a painting that I could not decipher, a poem that I could not place, and a smile that hid strange intentions.
She was a bon iver girl, a song that extended through and over the horizon, like a thick layer of clouds covering the world over, hiding its vulnerability, and emphasising its despair. The words of the poets, the poet writing about being lost in a sea of uncertainty, painted a picture of the girl who I could not write, but in a strange and sad way. I could not help but feel the pull of my soul into the depths of anguish, pain, melancholy. Not a physical pain, not tears, but a longing, a longing to something, someone I did not know.
I began writing about a long-lost love while staring into her eyes. I felt the tugging of insignificance pulling at the sleeves of my body, with its fingers trying to pry open my skin to imbed itself, seeking the last drop of hope that remained lodged behind the smallest of smiles. And then her eyes exploited that very hope that I desperately needed to hold onto, the last tether that grounded the hope that slowly started to seep into the dead earth underneath my feet.
I was turning myself into the very lyrics I detested, not because of some inherent distaste for the words, but because it lingers on and on stretching over the horizon in the most unpleasant of ways, reinforcing the very unhappiness I wanted to run away from. The girl who I could not write, who now became the bon iver girl running through my mind, seeped the very fabric of my existence, saturating it with a strange hue of sorrow - one not linked to any definite loss, event, or even artwork. It was a holistic sorrow that reverberated through my hollow body with no definite cause.
Soon, I could not take the sorrow-filled music any longer and I gave my last bit of hope to the girl I could not write.
And she echoed the words into my mouth with her lips reading the contorted and twisted moment into something of lasting effect. She echoed the words onto the horizon to become a strange poem that covered the edge of my world in a type of sadness only she could make beautiful.
She turned my sorrow into a strange poem only I could find beauty in.
I listened to the echo reverberating through my hollow body, as if her words were balls bouncing inside a room with no way out, and I found meaning behind the dullest of pains, the saltiest of tears. And I found meaning in the insignificance of my own existence.
I became a desperate poem in the eyes of the girl who I could not write, only to find solace in the chords of her voice strumming my lonely soul.
I found meaning in the eyes of the bon iver girl...
It is in these rare moments that even the most mundane of sounds can my you feel some sort of emotion - melancholy, sorrow, despair, aguish, nostalgia - that you know you found poetry in your soul.
Planting my feet firmly in the soil of this strange poetic sadness, I begin to write anew, every day a new day filled with new strange types of words.
Alongside me, though, is the constant reminder of the girl I could never write. Now, she dances along the rhythm of these sad notes from poets who do not try to understand; they merely exist in the realm of eternity, echoing alongside her words throughout the empty space we try to understand with our being alive.
I become a strange vessel that echoes these thoughts.
I hope that you enjoyed these strange musings through my mind, and that the photographs also touched your soul in the same sense as the music that plays in the background (if you only listen hard enough).
For now, happy photographing and keep well.
The musings, meanderings, and thoughts are my own, albeit inspired by the girl I could never write and the lyrics of the band Bon Iver whom I hyperlinked when I used them - they are not my own but the rest are. The photographs are also my own, taken with my Nikon D300 and Nikkor 50mm lens.