Celebrating Absurdity

Margaret stepped closer, her hand finding mine. “We’re part of this colossal creation called the world,” she said. “Our love, our laughter—though not eternal—are not meaningless. So, my heartless philosopher, let me embrace your absurdity. Let’s live rationally, love recklessly, and find meaning in each other’s breaths.”

Margaret and I sat on the weathered wooden bench, our fingers entwined like ivy vines. The evening sky stretched above us, a canvas of eternal colors—pale blues fading into dusky purples. The moon, a silver crescent, hung low, as if eavesdropping on our whispered confessions.

“Margaret,” I began, my voice soft as the breeze that ruffled her chestnut hair, “how beautiful is life? You, me, and this vast sky—the moon? But the tragedy is that you, with your beauty, and I, with my love for you, will one day cease to exist.”

She tilted her head, eyes fixed on the horizon. “Yes indeed, everyone has to die one day,” she replied, her gaze distant yet intimate. “It’s a bitter truth, yet the moment in which you and I exist holds meaning.”

I traced patterns in her hair, feeling the warmth of her presence. But my heart carried a shadow—a shadow of melancholy. “My heart always sinks when I think that one day we won’t be here,” I hesitated, “that your moon-like face won’t brighten the dark corners of my existence, and my restlessness won’t find solace in your hugs and kisses. It’s absurd, isn’t it? So strange!”

Margaret turned to me, her eyes wide with curiosity. “Why do you think like this?” she asked. “True, life holds mysteries. We don’t know where this world sprang from or where we’ll go. But between birth and death, we have choices. We can live with our freedom, and these moments in love—they are the reply to the meaninglessness of life—the absurdity.”

Her words hung in the air like dewdrops on a spider’s silk. I smiled, a bittersweet ache in my chest. Margaret slid off my lap, kneeling before me. Her eyes held mine, searching for answers. “You’re so optimistic,” I said, brushing a strand of hair from her forehead. “It’s because I love you that you see life this way. But I—I’m lost, Margaret. I’ve tried to uncover the secret of existence, and I’ve failed.”

She stood, her fingers grazing my cheek. “But,” she whispered, “life is meant to be lived, not to uncover its secrets. Look.” She pointed toward the sea, where waves kissed the shore, “See the tides—the ebb and flow, relentless yet purposeful. The birds dance on the wind, celebrating existence. And the trees, rooted deep, defy storms. Even the mountains—they stand as ancient witnesses. Everything is in harmony with nature and existence. Why can’t we be, too?”

I followed her gaze, feeling the breeze lift my hair. “And the breeze,” she continued, “just believe, just like that, we simply exist, and that’s enough.”

Margaret stepped closer, her hand finding mine. “We’re part of this colossal creation called the world,” she said. “Our love, our laughter—though not eternal—are not meaningless. So, my heartless philosopher, let me embrace your absurdity. Let’s live rationally, love recklessly, and find meaning in each other’s breaths.”

And in that moon-kissed moment, I was feeling that Margaret had painted the world with her optimism, and I would learn to see it through her eyes. We stood there, two souls on the edge, promising to chase sunrises and dance in rainstorms. For her, it was about enjoying moments; for me, it was about forgetting my absurdity.