I sit here, with only the clinking of buttons and zippers as the dryer spins, because I just felt within my heart great loss, and at the same time I was forced to recognize great beauty in a world that was fictitious.
After watching The Grand Budapest, I can’t help but feel the immense loss of our protagonist, just as the narrator said from the beginning that we were delving into the mind of an unequaled man of loneliness. For a time I sat on the couch, watching the credits, taking in what had just been ripped out of me, after the movie cleverly placed it within my very fabric. The people, the lifestyle, the era long since passed. I thought of how the movie resembled the battles of Don Quixote living out his fantasies in a world which no longer existed, but he tried so hard to create the illusion of it.
When I stepped past the heartbreak and sorrow, I realized there was also great beauty. In two hours I was able to meet some of the most extraordinary people and watch the greatest days of one of the most beautiful hotels. Would I remember them the same if they were still there? Would I care as deeply if I shut the movie off in the last five minutes to avoid knowing the fates of those I had come to love?
No. I would not have wept at the gracefulness of those elements. I would not have been moved to write or to create art. To make poetry or to love. I would not have been any of these things, for my joyfulness would resound, I would be fat on contentment, and those who taste the lard of gratification are doomed to remain in mediocrity, for that is the agent of stasis. This life, and these stories, have given me famine, and for that I weep, I write, I love, I suffer depression, and I understand joy.
I am blessed in the losses I’ve endured, in the pain my heart suffers nightly when I stare at a black ceiling, in the songs which create a bitter taste to my soul. Because each of these things remind me of what beauty is, and without beauty, with loss and hopelessness inked upon my breast, I can strive for beauty and the creation of it in all I do.