she lived an abstract life

she lived an abstract life,
one painted, but lacking elements of realism
existence was too harsh
whereas the color-washed reality was delightful and delicate, full of impulse

open to possibility

children live an abstract life

she had chosen to join them

Existing in thought or idea, but nothing concrete and tangible - abstract. Paintings, feelings, the wind, these are intangibles. I often feel like I live in and relate more to things, people, places that are abstract. There's a certain mystery, something to uncover.

Abstract is experienced, felt. It's not quantitative. It can't be defined or put in a box with a pretty little bow.

I often wonder why we want to define everything.

Think about it. Your job has a description, an ailment is named or given an acronym and heaven forbid we leave the house without our phone which contains our defined, concrete life.

I have a job description, a few named ailments and kinda freak out if my phone's not in my bag, but on the days I let go curious possibilities appear. I stop to actually chat with a lady at the dog park instead of just saying "good morning." Come to find out, her dog Bordie is 15 and she just rescued a lost dog; hoping to find the owner. Important stuff? Definitely not life changing, or is it?

When I jotted down the scattered poem that started this post, I had in mind a person who just wanted to drop out of life in general. However, as I've read and re-read the words, my thought has changed. She's now a person who has chosen a more in-tune place; one that's color-washed and perhaps more real than the definitions.

Existing in thought -

Missy

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