Defining the lyrical passages that ink the chapters of a life. Tidal locked between monochromatic tints of sepia and steel blue-of dreams and memories materialized to better grapple with the shifting sands of interpersonal relationships. Attempts to make sense of what's been scattered to the wind, to rationalize the resting resentment of feeling cast aside. Retracing one's footsteps, replaying key events as they crest and trough in the recesses of their mind. The cityscape is laid out with the earmarks of an M. C. Escher lithograph; each staircase and walkway offer no resistance, unfolding with ease to induce the wandering thinker into further introspection.
As comforting as it is to lounge back, cradled in the bosom of the past, it posits a new set of challenges for those who can't part from it. The intersecting lives of three brothers provide a panoramic view of its outcome. Their reliance manifests as a soothing balm, attempting to paper over the banal reality that sometimes, people grow up and grow apart. Searching for a tomorrow while keeping a tight grip on yesteryear can often leave one unstuck from the present, freefalling, getting further lost in thought of what had been. "If only I-" "I wish there was-" typifies fruitless attempts to mend perceived wrongs when time offers no reprieve, no redoes; there's only now and what's to come. It's in this form of denial that we carry a piece of our childhood with us. A preset naivety never to be shaken from its infancy, even when we've matured enough to know better.
And so three brothers, three limbs connected by blood, are drawn back to the roots of their father's garden, tracing the timeline, attempting to pinpoint the instance in which they branched out. Fighting the inevitability of parting ways misses the point of why it happened in the first place. Growing pains are necessary; the familiarity of a family's protection can often stunt the maturation that makes boys into men. It's hard to let go and trust that the wind will carry you where you need to land, that you'll find solid ground to build from, but the alternative is a sapling that never takes root.
We're all under the roof of the same sky. The seed for reconciliation may be further down one's path, and as long as you're moving forward, there's a chance it will bear fruit. A new day will crest the horizon; wake up and grab hold of it.
As comforting as it is to lounge back, cradled in the bosom of the past, it posits a new set of challenges for those who can't part from it. The intersecting lives of three brothers provide a panoramic view of its outcome. Their reliance manifests as a soothing balm, attempting to paper over the banal reality that sometimes, people grow up and grow apart. Searching for a tomorrow while keeping a tight grip on yesteryear can often leave one unstuck from the present, freefalling, getting further lost in thought of what had been. "If only I-" "I wish there was-" typifies fruitless attempts to mend perceived wrongs when time offers no reprieve, no redoes; there's only now and what's to come. It's in this form of denial that we carry a piece of our childhood with us. A preset naivety never to be shaken from its infancy, even when we've matured enough to know better.
And so three brothers, three limbs connected by blood, are drawn back to the roots of their father's garden, tracing the timeline, attempting to pinpoint the instance in which they branched out. Fighting the inevitability of parting ways misses the point of why it happened in the first place. Growing pains are necessary; the familiarity of a family's protection can often stunt the maturation that makes boys into men. It's hard to let go and trust that the wind will carry you where you need to land, that you'll find solid ground to build from, but the alternative is a sapling that never takes root.
We're all under the roof of the same sky. The seed for reconciliation may be further down one's path, and as long as you're moving forward, there's a chance it will bear fruit. A new day will crest the horizon; wake up and grab hold of it.