Of course we want perfection. We want the best picture, best job, best hair.
But perfection is when you see his crooked teeth beyond the gap of his smile. It’s the scar on your arm from where you fell out of a tree at age eight. The way you hold your fork the wrong way and the phobia you’ve hid for so long. It’s the way your moms voice echoes through the house and your family bickers on Christmas morning. It’s the times someone stutters amongst excitement and the times you fall asleep, mid-sentence, on the phone. It’s the way you snore in your sleep when you dream of perfection. But what society won’t tell you, is that perfection is imperfection and imperfection is perfect.
They don’t understand. They don’t understand why you’ve collapsed on the side of the road, sobbing hysterically into your hands. They don’t understand why their messages sit in your inbox, unacknowledged for days. They don’t understand why your mind wanders to dark places, despite their constant pleas to cheer up.
Don’t get it wrong, they care – but they don’t understand.
They don’t understand how you’ve lost respect for life, how you can’t find anything to live for. You hold onto the familiar, aching to relive the simpler days. They don’t understand how you’ve stopped dreaming. You’ve stopped embracing the warmth of fresh laundry. You’ve stopped savoring the last sip of your morning tea. You’ve stopped smiling at the innocent, young faces you see on the street. You’ve stopped living.
You don’t have to write a novel, fill a gallery with art or direct a play to tell your story. Find a way that works. Find a way to tell your tragedy. To inspire the ones on the same path. Your story is the cuts beneath your skin. The bags beneath your eyes. The dirt beneath your nails. Not everyone can see and not everyone will understand but, the ones that do need you to use the dirt on your hands to help them build their own castle in the sand.
A house isn’t a home without the people beneath the roof. A vacation isn’t worth the trip without the culture you embrace. A friendship isn’t more then company until you learn to let them in and a relationship is only lust until you find someone to love. A job is simply work until you’re doing something worthwhile and your life is simply existence until you truly start to live.
Don’t give up too soon, for life has more to offer. The people will change and situations will happen.There are things beyond your control. There are things not worth the pain. Find your outlook, find what’s right, and you will never search for happiness again.
Why can’t we speak for the animals? Why can’t we have a meat-free diet without being a hippie. Why can’t we have a love for cats without being lonely or stand behind PETA without being accused of following a trend. Why can’t we smile at a puppy without being weak or give the animals love back, without being crazy.
Perhaps animal lovers just need to find that love. A therapists, a friend, a family member. It’s unconditional. It’s irreplaceable. A love that can be felt with no words, no sounds, no grand gestures. It’s a rare thing in life that reminds us that sometimes, love can be silent.
We spend our lives preparing for the day we graduate college. The day we enter the real world and the day we’re left on our own. Society has put it in our heads that life starts and stops when we’re handed a diploma. We have so much to do and so much time to do it, yet we live to believe it should already be done.
Life shows no mercy as we’re hit with a wind that keeps pushing back. Teasing us of happiness beyond the cold. Success beyond the struggle. The hardest thing to do is look up and look forward, so too often, we turn our backs, and lose sight of the path we were walking. The only way we’ll succeed is to use the push of the wind as momentum and use the idea of falling; as the very something that keeps us up.
You don’t hate life as much as you think you do. You hate that there are people who make it look so easy. They tell you not to worry; they tell you everyone has their own problems.
Still, you resent the ones who get an extra Friday night with their friends, who celebrated a holiday with more cheer than you, whose online accounts are filled with more smile than yours. Of course they’ve been sad and they’ve felt their share of pain, but they don’t sacrifice the time you do. They don’t understand true sadness. They don’t take steps with a cloud above their head.
They’re hiding a truth you’re aching to know because after all, it’s not that you want a life without rain. You just want to know you’re not the only one getting wet.
We are young adults. We are grown ups. We are twenty-something along those lines. It’s so much madness with unassigned words. It’s a dropped palette of paint, a rollercoaster with no set course.
To be twenty-something is to master the art of using minimal silverware. It’s beginner cookbooks and doodle filled notebooks. It’s broken hearts and drunken kisses. Big wide eyes and life in panic. Mornings that come with lessons, nights that come with regrets.
We are too many people, too few people. Too much change, too much routine. We are wide-awake at four a.m. We are, am I rich yet? We are prisoners of ourselves.
We’ve found ourselves trapped within a room with no walls; been following a map that’s upside down. We’ve found ourselves spinning dizzy in circles with excitement because we want what we want, right now. The problem is, we don’t know what we want.
I don’t want you in the morning the way I wanted you last night. I was drunk on dark skies, the warmth of your body, the idea that good morning were the words I’ve been missing. I like when we whisper under the sheets, and close our eyes mid conversation.
Then we reach a point when the talking stops, the sweet words fade and the city lights twinkle with the lives that surround us. It’s at that point that I like awake beside you remembering, tomorrow can happen without you.