Sticks and stones may break your bones but words can never hurt you, physically. Words can’t be stitched up, leaving a faint scar in three to six weeks. Words can’t be removed with relief of tweezers or the cold lather of numbing cream. Words are a verbal slap, leaving pain long after the swelling goes down. They create a label, a definition, a restriction of who you are. Even if you don’t believe them, even if they depict the old you, words are a stamp we can’t seem to escape.
You will always remember when someone asked why your tooth was discoloured, why your laugh cracks the way it does, why you’re selling yourself for a simpler life. You will always hold onto the idea that the bad words will follow while the good words are gone in the breath they are said.
The pictures in your cubical prove that happiness isn’t a paycheck, a Christmas party, or a dress down Friday. Happiness is the grass your family lays on, the yoga lessons you rush to after work, the pizza tradition you cling to, every Friday night. It’s the journal entries you keep at three a.m, the guitar lessons you apologize for ahead of time, the Netflix shows you binge watch on a rainy Sunday morning.
You have a job beyond rush hour and cafeteria lines. You have a job to live effortlessly. A job to live happy.
There’s a way to be rich doing what you love but for as long as you look at fabric lined walls, with lifeless eyes and a painful routine, the pictures in your cubical will remind you of the chances you didn’t take. They will absorb your possibilities. Your wasted potential. They will remind you that you’re there because your heart may speak the loudest but your head plays the safest.
To lose you is to admit defeat to a world that works against us. A world offended by simple love. To lose you is to hate the universe for the happiness it takes to soon. The futures it cuts too short. I offer to lose you time and time again; hoping fate will tire and move on. Turns out fate has those same plans for me.
Fate has no patience. No hesitance. No we’ll see how it goes. No mercy on the love letters or the people who sign them. Fate gives you a box of tools and the hands to use them. Gives you people to love and the hands to hold them.
Fate’s a coincidence that works out. A consequence meant to last. This is the last time I’ll lose you, as I fight an impossible battle but as fate has promised, this will one day make sense.
Your childhood blanket that once doubled as a shield withers into threads. The house you grew up in acts as a home for a new family, making memories in place of yours. Your parents are a phone call away but there’s no spot in their bed for you to crawl into. There’s no ice cream in the fridge, served with the promise to make everything better.
But regardless of the cruel world that is adulthood, there is hope. There is reassurance that people amongst us are wearing sincere smiles inspired by the innocence in life. There is love after love; there is life after loss. So don’t lose your youth or you’ll lose your mind, for morning turns to night as our age is wasted in time.
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 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, but for as long as you let yourself turn your head to reality, you’re letting yourself be one of them.
You spend your days left to wonder where you went wrong, what you said in error. The ridiculous regrets that exhaust your mind. If your life has gone wrong and disappointment is constant, realization is the bittersweet battle. You now have the power of hindsight. The ability to use your past to revise your future.
Unfortunately, hindsight stirs anxiety. You over think the things you wish could be over and forgotten about. You think everyone remembers your mistakes without realizing they’re trying to erase their own. It’s an uneasy circle. You must choose to take control of your life or live in a distorted reality. You must never take for granted the power of a second or the power of a second chance.
Too often, we are bonded by time. By the yo-yo of memories we share with a person. We make our mistakes in pen. Forever imprinting ourselves with things we can’t run from, things we can’t forget. Sometimes we stay, long after loves left because the past is comfortable and the past once made sense.
No matter the depth a relationship has fallen, there’s a way to climb out and escape it’s tight grip. There’s new memories to make and new people to make them with, so don’t lose your sense of wonder. Don’t dirty your blank slate with marker and don’t forget how to love, like you never heard his name.
You hold a fascination for all things bad. Bad for you. Bad to you. You fall for the wrong people. You love knowing they have dark thoughts, bad habits and broken personalities hidden beneath their fearless attitudes. You love the intensity of their moods and the honesty in their words. You quickly accept you can’t have simple love. You need someone to fight daemons with you.
In the midst of falling for others flaws, you fall victim to your own. You begin feeding your inner enemy, confusing your mistakes for who you want to be. You look at your life through a tangled web of rope. You hide behind the wrong people and the wrong choices; despite hating the person they make you.
You can’t admit he doesn’t want you. His eyes don’t light up when you walk in the room. Your inbox shows no evidence of him. Your sheets are tangled from your own distress.
You still flinch when you hear his name. The way you wish things were occupy your mind while reality tells a different truth. Your life has plans he’ll never be apart of but you tear yourself apart wishing he were by your side.
Wishing for once in your life, you could be enough. That you could lay beside him on the nights you stay up, full of rage and sorrow. The nights you’re punching pillows. The nights lonely never felt so alone.
Jack-in-the-boxes taught us to expect the unexpected. Show and Tell taught us the worth of having more, having better, having the best. Finger painting taught us the mess we’re capable of and the colours we show, without any intention. Skipping rocks taught us the fight of sink versus swim and a simple game of tag, taught the power of a touch.
We’ve spent years finding lessons within life, yet there’s still so much we don’t know, and so much we haven’t learned. A frustrating idea to some, but a sense of excitement for those who understand, we should be so fortunate to live in a world of the unknown.
So remember the things you learned in the rows of a classroom, but, don’t be mislead. Our educations leave us staring at a wall, and once we turn around, we fall into life’s depths and with that we learn, we must embrace the fall because those who fall are wiser, then those who grab for air.