Two souls looked out at the world and saw the same thing. One was filled with joy, the other was filled with pain. It’s not the thing we look upon that paints our point of view. But the heart through which we see it that gives our world its hue. Just remember that sometimes, the way you think about a person isn’t the way they actually are.
A little while ago, not much more than a few days ago, I was a child who went about in a world of colours, of hard and tangible forms. Everything was mysterious and something was hidden. Guessing what it was, was a game for me. If you knew how horrible it is to know suddenly, as if a bolt of lightning elucidated the earth. Now I live in a painful planet, transparent as ice, but it is as if I learned everything at once in seconds. I became old in instants and everything today is bland and lucid. I know that nothing lies behind. If there was something, I would see it. Just as an arrow is pulled backwards for a slight moment, destiny has already said it is not to remain there for long. An arrow can only be shot by pulling it backward. So when life is dragging you back with difficulties, it means it’s going to launch you into something great. So just focus, and keep aiming.
I’ve been blessed with the opportunity to get to know her. By definition she may not be perfect, but she’s the closest thing to perfect I’ve ever gotten to know. No one knows her like I do, no one understands her humor, laughter, and sorrows like I do. I envy every cup of coffee that gets to kiss her sleepy lips awake every cold and bitter morning. She’s the reason I understand the story about how the sun loved the moon so much, he died every night to let her breathe. She gave me a box full of darkness, it took me years to realize that this, too, was a gift. And throughout those years, I never left her side, despite everyone who told me to quit, and that’s when I began to notice everything about her.
I began to notice the subtle obvious: Her speech. It began to reflect those who have already become successors, mirroring their colloquialisms and humor. Their personality and passion. Their volume and tone. Her speech began to follow theirs, tracing the steps of their voice, intertwining with hers. For she was always in her own mind, but mostly inhabiting her day dreams. As she sits in class fiddling with her utensil, ignoring the lesson all together, or starring out the window as the sky begins to blend, she imagines— no creates a world dictated by an atmosphere with no boundaries, intertwined with her actual memories of happiness. She replays scenes over and over, forgetting what was real and what sprung from her imagination of the cliche, romantic, bullshit. So to speak If only she could she herself through my eyes, then she would never have to wake up and attempt to match the characteristics of the perfect girl she believes everyone likes.
Subconsciously I’ll continue to keep a notepad, recalling every compliment I ever spoke, hoping to mimic these shallow role plays everyday to keep her interested. But I’ll write, about a woman who’s skin repelled the scent of sunlight. Who’s hair was long and beautiful and flicks off of her shoulder in perfect remedy. I’ll mention tiny details she would have to think twice about. Like how I notice the the way her smile lifts at the corner when she’s embarrassed. Or how she walks with heavy feet when she feels the weight of the world crashing down on her shoulders.
And in my stories, I’ll relieve her of that burden. I’ll reminds her that she is loved, and special. Through my writing, she’ll live the life I knows she’s meant for. For a I can see past the naive and oblivious. I see’s past the pessimism and my eyes are opened to the realism as it warps into a story of surrealism…
The next time she speaks, don’t just listen to her - look at her. Whether she’s staring you dead in the yes, or finds herself speaking to the ground - look at her. Because that’s the only way you will know exactly how she’s feeling. And even then, you still might not have the slightest clue, but at the very least you’ll be able to look at her. And never take that for granted. She could make windstorms feel like a tropical breeze, and I’ve seen her turn battlefields into peace havens.
And I refuse to let anyone destroy what I hold so dear to me.
Right now I want a word that describes the feeling you get - a cold, sick feeling deep down inside - when you know something is happening that will change you, and you don’t want it to, but you can’t stop it. And you know, for the first time, that there will now be a before and an after, a was and a will be. And that you will never again be quite the same person you were.
I will write about the following, leave one in my ask box.
Dear person I hate,
Dear person I like,
Dear ex boyfriend,
Dear ex girlfriend,
Dear ex bestfriend,
Dear future me,
Dear past me,
Dear person I’m jealous of,
Dear person I had a crush on,
Dear [insert URL here],
I’d initiate the conversation, but I don’t know who you are so I can’t really do that.
But thank you for your kind words. They mean a lot to me.
Life is short. If I were you, I’d let me know who you are. Not just because I’m curious, but because it’s a good thing to get off your chest.
Who are you?