"A warning sign
I missed the good part, then I realised
I started looking and the bubble burst
I started looking for excuses
Come on in
I've gotta tell you what a state I'm in
I've gotta tell you in my loudest tones
That I started looking for a warning sign"
[Cold Play, "Warning Sign"]

We giggled.

We giggled and we laughed and we smiled and we spoke in kooky childish voices and made goo-goo-ga-ga noises. That was a long, long time ago.

You want a big grand answer at the end of the day? A meaning of life? A sum of it all? Where does it end? We does it even begin? What does it all mean? When is it going to be over? What do I need to do? How will I make my mark? God or not, meaning or not, life, death, and everything in between, I tell you with the certainty of decades of contemplation that the truest thing I've ever known was contained within a few simple giggles. It's not the quotes by Einstein or Ghandi, Gibran or Lao Tzu. It's not computer programming or lotteries or cell phones or salaries or the rising cost of living.

And it's not about her (or her, her, or her). I closed that door a long time ago at my brother's wedding when I saw her and realized finally that the the past was in the past, that that's where it belonged and must stay. That's not the point. It's not about us. It's about it. It's about that state of being, that sensation, that experience, that fragment of life, that moment in time, that existence, life, that tiny little splinter of the mind that no matter how much time passes never truly fades away into the murky pool of forgotten memories at the back of the head. It's not one particular incident. It's not one particular day. It's far too obscure and ethereal for that. It transcends logic and reason. It transcends the frailty of an addled brain like mine. It's an impression. It's an emotional memory. It's a cherished scar. It's an indelible mark.

If only you knew it when it was happening, you'd hold onto that moment forever.

You'd know it was one of the few, one of the forever-cherished, one of the most precious and meaningful moments of your life. You'd never let it go, held fast in the white-knuckled grip of your aching heart.

It's been years since I've laid eyes on Bernice. It's been years more since we were together as a couple. It was a long long time ago, and we're very different people now. But buried deep within me I have this foggiest glimpse of a time when I was happy, truly happy. I have a fond recollection of a carefree self who could be so caught up in the moment as to forget that there was a moment that preceded it and another to follow.

I've wanted, for years, just to thank her. I've thought so many times about sending her anonymous flowers or a small unexplained gift. It's not because she's a very special woman, though she is. It's not because she was a wonderful lover, though she was. It would be just a simple thank you, a reminder as much as anything else, to someone with whom I shared some of the most precious moments of my life.

I don't know where she is and how she's doing, and it doesn't really matter that I don't. I'll never send that gift or those flowers. It's not the Bernice of today that needs thanking or reminding, or even the Patrick of today that needs to extend it. It's a Patrick of days past, and a Bernice of long ago that shared these things, who need thanking. They built this faint but potent memory, not I, nor she.

Open your eyes when you open your heart, and if, by some strange miracle, you step outside of yourself just enough to realize at the time, that one of these moments is happening to you, take that feeling and hold it in your heart and never let it go.

Life becomes worth living.