Sometimes I wonder if hope is the greatest idea we possess. I remember hearing a story about a professor putting a mouse in a barrel of water in front of his class, watching it struggles for several minutes, then watching it drown. As the class watched in horror, he put another mouse in the barrel. Just before the mouse went under, he lifted it out for a few moments, then put it back in. The mouse fought and struggled for several seconds, then minutes, then hours. The mouse fought until late that night. Hope is pretty powerful.
I sometimes wonder if there are other people like me. Any kind of idea or emotion, I associate it with a color and a literal feeling. Hope is soft around the edges, no solid shape or frame. It's full of warm tones, more pinks, burnt oranges and reds than yellows. It's soft, like a blanket worn from years of use, but never tears through. This could all sound insane, but that movie... it always strikes a chord in me. It reminds me of this burning love I have for beauty, for life, for breath. Open windows and dust only seen in the afternoon sun.
I received a package the other day. It was a "random" package sent by a kindred spirit of sorts. It came at the perfect time. I want to send packages to everyone I know now. Even my roommates. I don't care. Everyone needs to know there is love and beauty in everything. If no one else reminds them, I want to do that. I'm sorry if I'm sounding spacey, it was just a really good time for that movie.
