I walk along the river, wondering how the great poets claimed to love and how I might write this unordinary love letter. The idea of mimicking Shakespeare seems futile and unprepared. My mind momentarily errs as if to stop my aimless wandering, meeting me with a moment of clarity. Suddenly, I no longer remember where I am. The breeze is chilling, ever-moving, and dragging me to the cement. As my torso presses against the cold wall of the bridge, my face peers over. The water, unclear and unable to provide me with a reflection of my face, instead shows me a path not chosen.
The Charles River is akin to an old flame that has since died out—with potential clarity and safety, yet covered by murky dirt lining the top. Beneath me, two ducks floated peacefully on the river. Their bodies occasionally knock against one another. The facade I present, calm and unbothered, mimics the ducks floating—ever-changing and consistently following a path that might not be my own. The creatures follow the stream, never fully knowing where the current will lead them. Are the ducks fated together? It all seems so still, so foolish, to spend hours grasping for perfection, tired eyes pouring over texts, the words jumbling together.
Is this journey what I am meant for? Is this all we can have? Have we strayed so far from our humanity, that we forget to smile at the person across from us, their path momentarily intersecting with mine, as our feet shuffled to the end of the crosswalk; one going and one leaving?
The ducks in the river know nothing of p-sets and internship applications; nothing of grad school worries and foolish insecurities. They simply float, letting the river take them, the current uncontrollable but pleasant. Have they mastered mindfulness? Have we lost ours? My heart thumps as I begin to question moments of joy and childhood.
Is it possible we have forgotten how to laugh with ease and read for pleasure? How to love because it feels good and not because it is right? To hold another’s hand in my own, and not wonder if he is the one. To simply love without the expectation of forever. How to chase after what we want and not what others tell us? Have we lost our dreaming souls? My mind asks me, as it swims with nonsensical sentences, to describe the ducks beneath me, creating foolish statements strung together with too many adjectives.
In this moment of reflection, my eyes close, and I face the clouded waters, feeling the breeze tangle and whip my hair. My eyes see nothing, concealed by my tired lids. My mouth has closed, its senseless words ceasing. I can smell nothing but the end of the cold of winter and the start of spring, and I hear nothing but the ducks beneath me, quietly floating. For the first time in a while, I feel my lungs expanding. My chest rises as if matching the rhythm of the creatures below me. How can I begin to express this feeling of peace? I no longer worry about things beyond my control as I breathe the winter air. Now, my reflection is complete. My quiet mind, a blank slate upon which to write this offering of love.
How I love you, Charles, for your murky surface which reminds me that perfection is not needed, and no matter how stagnant I stand, there is still motion within me. How I love you, Charles, for the life you carry easily upon your back, coasting families of ducklings to and fro. How I love you, Charles, for reminding me that the world continues around me, and I best make use of my time and start to move with it. Both masses flowed with the conviction of understanding that it just might all be okay.
Sidney Regelbrugge ’28 (sidneyregelbrugge@college.harvard.edu) can be found watching the ducks and writing poetic nonsense.