What is needed is a neutral position, an air of nonchalance, and a good read that imitates the struggle--such a shame I've already read this saga's ending--although there is yet comfort in knowing the words concerning emptiness are empty themselves and comfort is comprised of nothing, nothing in it's entirety is empty--entirely empty words--and so on and so forth, round-about the neutral position is achieved.
So much can be learned from little flat faces--or faces of any kind or shape at all. Living proof there is absolutely nothing that should consume but now, here, this, as little faces are always occupied and intrigued by a universe of scents, yet can easily distract from the gloriousness of living in the world of here and now by coming across scents that trigger memories instead of curiousity, memories completely forgotten but not lost, reminded again through familiar smells--fond memories discovered on the back of a dear one's pants--glimpses of an adventure in another place and time that compared to this moment and it's consumption of reality, could have been lifetimes ago instead of mere days. And this little face lights up, grinning in the way only a smushface can, he paces his front paws in enlightened excitement, craning his neck up to catch his lady's eyes with his own glowing little globes that blink and shine,
"Remember how great that was?? Let's do that again sometime..."
and then off he goes, all recollection diminished, the reminiscing appropriately brief and finished for now, reconsumed by the present tense, and all the fascinating little miracles happening each instance are again the focus of the mind in this moment--this moment, as always, the concern of the life.
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