If you heard someone cry would you hug them? If you watched someone trip would you pick them up? If you felt someone die would you save them?
Day after day we can save someones life, we can show them the light, we can share what we know. We should all be so lucky to find someone whose seen the dark for those people know how to shine light when we need it ourselves. But sometimes the people who have seen the dark, leave their problems there.
Sometimes we’re scared of hugging, in fear of them holding too tight. Sometimes we’re scared to pick someone up, in fear they’ll pull us down. Sometimes we’re scared to save someone’s life, in fear we will forfeit our own. And sometimes we’re scared to share the lessons we learned, in fear of turning around.
Our teen years fixate on the popularity of the girl with pretty long hair and a drinking problem. The jock like boyfriends that will bend over backwards to hold their books and the instant glamour that can be found when accessorizing with pink. It’s the kind of life we hate to want.
We try to make a normal so far from what we know, but it’s a matter of time before we realize people don’t change, they simply can’t. We can fight who we are for as long as we have the strength but eventually it’s inevitable and we give up the act. The twenties come with a lot of hardships, a lot of obstacles we must overcome but while we’re occupied with the more serious problems in life, we forget to pretend to be someone else. There is no better time to embrace who you really are then a time where no one has a clue.
It’s the kind of pain we didn’t know love had to offer. The kind of love we hate to admit, for the times we saw the destruction, when the pain wasn’t worth the reward, we didn’t put the fire out. Instead, we watched it burn to ashes in a regretful fall out.
When the fall out happened and bitter resentment was strong, your jokes were at me, not to me. You didn’t pick up when I called. You brushed off my problems, my pleas, my maybe I was wrong. I live to wonder if you were worth settling for, but without you I’ll never know. Without you I can’t help but think, the burn from the flame was better then the ashes of us.
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 the family bickers on Christmas day. It’s the times someone stutters mid sentence, the times you fall asleep 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.
If Taylor Swift had a blog, she would write about graceful movements across the dance floor. Flawless hours making up for past suffering. Watching someone leave before even letting go. She would write about the bittersweet feeling of seeing someone love. The wonder hidden within life. The revenge hidden within words. She would write about the harmony of pastel colours. The complexity of paisley patterns. The therapy in a cup of tea. The glamour of sweatpants. The battle of self-resentment. The relief in self-discovery. The for better or for worse of uncertainty.
She would say love is pain and pain is inevitable. Everyday is a new challenge, a new yesterday. A fate left to zodiac signs. A fate left to if it’s meant to be.
Taylor Swift knows if you fall down and scrape your knee, it’s a good day to wear a skirt for our imperfections aren’t something worth hiding. Our imperfections are the very something someone will one day fall in love with.
Our lives play out like a game of Jenga. We start as a base, a solid foundation. We stand strong and we stand complete. It’s a matter of time before we let people pick at the pieces we’re made of. Pieces from the layers we need, to stand as tall as we do. They poke and they nudge until they get what they want. What they need to gain from our expense.
We lose stability and we hold weak hands. We’re forced to challenge our breaking point. Our luck in the game. Forced to hope we’re strong enough to withstand the inevitable fall. Eventually we don’t know what’s holding us up, what’s keeping us together. What we do know is who will win, who will lose and who will be left to pick up the pieces.
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.
You have personality traits you struggle to find in other people. Your witty comments surface as arrogance, leaving others to make false judgment. You have a constant sense of awareness, always keeping tabs on your surroundings and the crowd within it. You can find the escape route, the worst-case scenario or the most convincible reason to leave any situation.
You live in your mind so you’re aware of every word, every breath, every thought that plays pong on the walls of your brain. You fixate over the few things that interest you and are forced to battle the daily struggle of self-betterment. You have a sense of frustration for people whose qualities clash with yours. You lack patience. You lack restraint. You feel different because you are, and how exhausting it is to keep being misunderstood.
You don’t want to breakdown because you don’t want to challenge the people around you. You don’t want to see who would be there; you just want to believe they would all be.
You may mean the world to them, but no one’s life stops when yours does. You want them to push you, comfort you, convince you there’s good you can’t see. Maybe they can’t keep telling you things will be okay. They can’t call every lunchtime or skip every dinner. They can’t give you expectations that they’ll always be there because sometimes they won’t be. Sometimes your call will go unanswered. Your mind will be left to wander. You don’t want to breakdown because you know; sometimes the idea of someone has to be enough.
Misery is the image in your head of how things should be. It’s the sense of ideal, the comfort of a plan. It steals the freedom of your mind, as there is only so much uncertainty you can live with. The idea of tomorrow hurts, as you live to believe tomorrow isn’t in your favour.
Misery is temporary. It’s destroyed when acknowledged and when it leaves, it leaves acceptance. It leaves you stronger, it leaves you better. And if it doesn’t, try again. Life isn’t a hit or miss. It isn’t a now or never. So accept the way you wish things were then accept the way things are.