marginalia

between the lines

I like people who notice.

Those who aren’t afraid to share the little musings that rest on the edge of their minds. Like notes that lie in the margins that never leave the page. I like when people tell me the water ripples look like 70s wallpaper or start a Rorschach test at a stoplight with a sculpture. I like all that is said in moments of silence or the tender brush of a hand.

I like when those people let these insights linger, bookmarked for a later date. Send me a photo of their fortune cookie proverb because it mentioned bees. Or take the ice out of my water knowing I prefer it at room temperature. I like people who say, “Look at the cat right now,” even though it’s in the same pose as yesterday. These little moments caught in the wild like pressed flowers falling from a book. Reminders of all the places we've been and curiosities collected.

I like the marginalia of being alive. The details that don’t advance the plot, but create the heart of the story. I want to live between the lines, amidst the wonder hidden in plain sight. Let the simplicities of the mundane reveal the magic they’ve had all along.

Because in the end, I don’t think a life is measured in its major events. It’s crafted from the sloppy annotations and dog-eared corners. The worn-out spine and coffee stains. The moments when we let the dust settle, and the world softens into focus.