I look up to a lot of people, look into a lot of people, look out for a lot of people. Always looking. Always. It’s inside myself to look outside. I push my finger across my lip as I pull on my cheek and make eye contact with a reverse image of me in the black screen of a television. The music queues up, and I’m filling up with all the events of the day, the crying and the hurt and the things that don’t make sense to me. It’s all just so different. All of life is just passing moments that don’t make sense, or they make so much sense that I’m overwhelmed, encumbered, deafened, defeated. I look out into a field of trees, graves, a sea of people, of emotions, stories, upbringings. All these people I don’t know that I know so well just by looking, but is that fair? Who am i to say who anyone else is, even for just a moment?
How am I sure of myself when I hated them as a child, but would eat them raw from the dirt if I had the chance? We all change, so how can I develop anything sure around that?
What is faith if I don’t have something to look up to? Can I still be full of it? Full of love? Doubt? Wisdom? If I was the smartest person alive would I feel better? If I was naive, would the oblivion feel comforting?
What if they’re right about me? What if they’re not? Why is everything so about being right, and not about acceptance?
I ask, I question, analyze, critique, I am as curious as the annoying child always asking “why” just to frustrate the questioned. But is it out of fear I ask? Out of hope?
I can’t ever imagine I’ll have it all figured out; that figures. What are we gonna do though? What’s the alternative? We’re out here in this thick muddled forest that’s hard enough to navigate as is. Some days you just do it because what’s the alternative?
I’ll tell you one thing.
If you’re reading this, then you’ve been better than all the bad things that have ever weighed you down. And if you can carry on this far, why not keep going?
Keep going. You’ll find the reasons soon enough.
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