Is It You?

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It’s your eyes, isn’t it?

Your eyes, deep & understanding, are what make people fall in love with you.

Your eyes are what make people trust people trust you, open up to you.

Or maybe it’s your hands, isn’t it?

Your hands, soft yet strong, make people want to hold on.

Your hands are what make people want to never let go.

Or maybe it’s your heart, isn’t it?

Your heart, beautiful & pure, is what takes people by surprise.

Your heart is what makes people want to be loved back.

Or maybe it’s just you.

It is just you, isn’t it?

True Irony

Have you ever wished someone so much unhappiness that you wish to see them break down, fall to their knees & cry like a child in front of you? Have you ever wished someone so much pain that every morsel of your soul wants to see them only suffer & burn? Have you ever wished someone so much hate that you wanted everyone to look at them with disgust & foreboding?

I have.

& all this usually comes after you’ve wished someone all the happiness, all the love & all the respect this world has to offer, after you’ve loved so much that only God could take it out of your heart, after you’ve been broken so badly that only God might put you together, but He is busy with so many other tormented souls.

But what’s worse, when you wish them all the unhappiness & the pain in the world, they usually are rewarded with it. & seeing them breaking down & suffering, you can never truly be happy either.

That is the whole point of irony, I guess.

Contempt

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Basically, every time I look around me there’s someone standing there who wants to be seen, who wants to be heard, who wants the world to know they exist. 

Every time I step out of my shell of self-obsession, I witness someone coming out of their shell of self-loathing. 

Every time I think about becoming a better person, I see someone striving just to survive. 

& every time I learn a lesson; I’m better fed, I’m better clothed, I’m better off. 

But that doesn’t humble me, it only makes me more contempt. Is this the human condition? Or is it just me? 

Every time I look around, the questions make me look away.

A Corner Full of Words

I’m pretty sure there’s a whole lot of stuff everyone wants to do with their lives. I’m no different, although I’m pretty sure I’m VERY different.

*Yes, I tend to strut around, head held high, pointing condescending fingers at everyone else, sue me!*

But here’s what I’ve always wanted to do. I’ve wanted a corner of the world all to myself, a little corner, with shelves & shelves full of books, of different genres, from different authors, the classics & the contemporaries & all the beauty that words can hold. & I want to put in the middle of that corner a high backed, deep seated, mahogany colored leather armchair. & I wanted to sit there, with a steaming cup of coffee resting gingerly on one arm of the chair & a book in the other hand, & I want to lose myself in the brilliance of another’s imagination.

& here comes the catch. I know I most probably am not the only one with this desire of social-regression. I’m pretty sure there are others who are like me, who will appreciate this corner as much as I would & who would want a place to spend those chilly winter evenings. As Lennon said, “I may be a dreamer but I’m not the only one.”

*Yes, I consider myself to be of the same intellectual standards as Lennon, sue me!!*

But what if this corner could be real? What if there was a place where we could spend those dull winter evenings? What if there was a place where the warmth of imagination was all it took to uplift a bunch of dampened spirits? What if there was a place where people of all ages could sit for a while & leave inspired? What if there was a place that smelled of old parchment & freshly bound classics? What if there was a place where you could be surrounded by the beauty of poetry, fiction, horror & romance? What if there was a place which sold words?

*Height of wishful thinking, I know, sue me!*

So all of you who are dreamers like me, the intellectuals in a society full of fools, mail me a generous check & let’s see what can be done about this corner.

*So I actually wasted at least 10 minutes of your time trying to sell you an idea. I’m brilliant, sue me!* 

Grain of Sand

The whole world I wish to travel; across boundless seas & treacherous hills & forests of beasts.

What is it I wish to find? Maybe it is the chaos that my serenity has deprived me of. Maybe it is desire that fulfillment has satisfied. Maybe I simply wish to find myself, or maybe I wish to find if I might still be loved. Maybe I wish to find the purpose of my existence, or maybe I wish to find nothing at all.

But what if, in the end of a tiring, perilous journey, I come upon the one discovery I did not expect? What if, in the end, I find truth? What if, in the end, I find God? What am I to ask of Him? Or from Him? What am I to say? What am I to do? Do I ask Him for forgiveness for things that I still might not have done? Do I ask Him to tell me what exactly is my existence for?

Do I implore Him for reason? Do I beg Him for mercy? Or do I sit there quietly, humbled, & wait for Him to take my hand?

But what if, in the end, I find all that I’m looking for? But what if, in the end, the world is enough for me?

Maybe fate is a silly thing. Maybe I might not then be ready. Maybe I might still be a mere mortal, a grain of sand.