After watching that film, I realized something absurdly simple: I’ve spent my whole life hearing merry-go-round as Mary go round.

In my head, it was always some girl named Mary, running in circles with a lamb trailing behind her.

It wasn’t until yesterday, when I actually sat on one that I understood. It’s not Mary going around. It’s me.

There’s something strange about a carousel. You can’t see which horse you’re riding, but you can feel its breath, its rhythm, the quiet reassurance of its weight beneath you.

Each rotation shows the same scenery. But my heart isn’t the same. So every circle becomes a new journey.

Merry isn’t happiness. It’s that subtle joy of realizing: “I am alive.”

Mary belongs to stories. Merry is a state of being. And yesterday, sitting on that wooden horse, I wasn’t playing.

I was being born again.



—— XC Scribbles · 貳拾陸 XXVI 🎠