Well, it was an understatement to state that Red was average.
Sure, he was born in a family of teachers, with little drama, maybe even boring, and where the only expectation was that he’d be himself.
Red understood most of that correctly, except the part about what he was supposed to like. He liked things others around him liked, and they were common earthly things.
In his mind, however, Red lived many lives, explored many dimensions, and traveled through space and time.
In between, he fell in love. Her name was Marigold, the golden flower. She inspired him to write poems. Elation, anxiety, joy, postponement, expectation, light, truth, anticipation, flight, staying, jealousy, and tasting the texture of words on a summer’s eve were among the words he wrote.
When they broke up, he declared that his spring was over, and he’d live in eternal fall, it was the perfect season to express how he felt.
In the following spring, he fell in love again. This time with Maya. He wrote that her name meant illusion, although in her native Maori tongue it meant courage. She filled him up with it, the courage to be more of himself, and not ascribe to what was expected of him. Every morning, he’d tell her of last night’s dream adventure they’d had, and she loved him even more after each story.
In the following spring, she moved away to continue work on her PhD.
It was then that Red finally understood, that while there were beginnings and ends, the true nature of his being was continuity. He realized that while it all had its place and time and basket of weaved feelings, it was all transitory and to be enjoyed as such.
What a wonderful boy that Red was. He was my own and I loved him dearly!
In his mind he lived many lives.... dhe kjo i shpjegon të gjitha.