There will be a day when you realize, life’s been busy changing. Your drinking buddy’s having a baby while your best friend’s tying the knot. The familiar faces of your hometown have scattered across the world and the girl whose name you once knew is the face of the biggest magazines. The jocks are chugging beers and the nerds are making money. The pretty girls still love the drunks while you’re just relieved you’ve moved on.
And on this day you’ll see, there are people behind you and people ahead of you in this crazy thing called life. We’re in a race, competing against a world that knows no rules and plays by no standard. No one comes out the winner and with that, no one comes out the loser. You’re tired and you’re gasping but as long as you keep running, you’re playing the game right.
Why can’t we speak for the animals? Why can’t we have a meat-free diet without being considered 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. We can’t 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. Our therapists, our companions, our family. It’s unconditional. It’s irreplaceable. A love that can be felt with no words, no sounds, no grand gestures. A rare thing in life that reminds us that sometimes, love can be silent.
Life in the 90’s were simple. They were easy. Our TV’s played cartoons, not the madness in the news. Stress was level 50 in Bop-It or the sound of your VHS, jamming in your machine. We expressed ourselves on Paint documents and through our latest Art Attack. Crime was a Mary Kate and Ashley episode including ghosts and amusement parks while horror was the theme song to Goosebumps, you forgot to turn off in time.
And in the midst of perfection, and our picket fence lives, there was death, and loss and tragedy. Meaning we have been taught to fear a world that once offered so much happiness. We’re no longer hidden from truth so we can no longer pretend it’s not there. Which leaves us to wonder, did we like the 90’s or did we like the opportunity to live in oblivion?
Stress is the stacking of bricks, melting into the soft ground beneath. It’s the little things, the loud noises, the never-ending cycle of burden. Stress is a boiling kettle, a staircase to nowhere, a sea of due dates and obligations. We live in a world that offers everything but owes us nothing and with that; there’s not enough time, not enough sleep, not enough strength.
They can tell you to relax, to calm down, to stop getting worked up over nothing but that’s like throwing a dart and missing the target. That’s like an empty promise that things will workout. So we live our lives held back, with no clue what to do, for stress is the weight of the wagon you continue to pull, leaving pieces of yourself in it’s tracks.
Stop and look around or you’ll miss a puppy see it’s first flower, or a baby take it’s first steps. You’ll miss the teen on the bus give their seat to an elderly women and your secretive neighbor will hold open the door. You’ll miss one homeless person share their sandwich with another and you’ll watch a child’s face light up, with a new teddy in their arms.
You’ll look at your feet because life doesn’t deserve your smiles. You have the ability to be selective. To see what you want – to want what you know. And with every step you’ll remind yourself of heartbreak and pain. The humans that start wars and the evil on the news. You look down to avoid a truth you can’t stand. The world is full of messed up people. Broken people, and for as long as you let yourself hide from reality, you’re letting yourself be one of them.
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.Those are things beyond your control. They’re not worth the pain. Find your outlook, find what’s right, and you will never search for happiness again.
We build communities and groups, in order to link to those who’ve been through the same. We find extreme comfort in knowing we’re not the only one with a storyline behind us and the obstacles ahead. We’re all lonely and we’re all insecure yet we’re all jealous of someone elses pain. The heartbreak, the loss, the troubles. We’re just a bunch of people saying that won’t happen to me. Yet in the end, we realize bad things happen and life is hard, but that’s called growing up.
We’re enslaved to the things we can’t control, that’s life. Our faults are the things we can change, and don’t. We go through life with such slow precaution in fear of losing what we have, despite not knowing what it is. Life takes prisoners but leaves no survivors so don’t settle for a life, confined within your worries. Don’t sacrifice control of your future for security in right now.
I wish I craved people. Their time, their attention, their company. I wish I heard talking in the lunchroom and didn’t turn around. I wish I could hold eye contact with the cashier without looking away or talk to my neighbor about the late mail. I wish I could run to my crush and kiss him for hours. No hesitation, no regrets, no fear of rejection.
I wish friendships were natural and love was just life. I wish our stories stitched together and I didn’t crave silence. For, I have so many things I want to say so I rehearse them in my mind, but the things I want to say may never make it to you because life has a funny habit of not following the script. So I’ll live as a wallflower, with my emotions beside me and fear on my back. I’ll risk missing a good thing for a sure thing, until one day I’m sure of myself.
Your wine glass is empty ’cause you drink from the bottle. The bottle is empty ’cause you drink with the moon. It’s madness. It’s intelligence. It’s bloodshot eyes at three a.m. You write because they won’t let you talk. You write because you need the light, to help you find the dark corners of your mind.
Your fingers, they dance while words, they appear. Your once floating thoughts now hold substance and truth. It’s a writers mind, a quick escape. It’s the silence of your room and the screaming in your head. It’s lonely, it’s comfortable. It’s being the passenger of a sinking ship and simply watching the violinist play.