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| Courtesy :leonidafremov.deviantart.com |
There isn’t much passion centered within my existance. There isn’t anything in
particular I wanted to do with my life, except maybe write. There’s isn’t
anything particular I wanted to be, except maybe brilliant. There isn’t
anything particular that I ever needed more than my next breath. But maybe I haven’t
come by that thing yet. Aren’t people discovering themselves when they’re old
and withered and the surge of passion would be enough to kill them, but it
doesn’t, only makes life seem more worthwhile? Maybe my passion is out there,
standing in a corner, waiting for me to turn down that road so that it can
sneak up on me, take me by surprise and change my world. Maybe my passion is
something bigger than the human-sized dreams I have right now. Maybe my passion
is beyond all that I yearn for right now, bigger than all the little milestones
I need to achieve.
Maybe my passion doesn’t even originate from me. Maybe my
passion is the reciprocal of someone else’s passion for all the things that I’m
too wise to be proud about. And maybe that passion will be enough to take my
breath away someday, when I’m old and wrinkled, and when I’ve forgotten all
else but the passion burning in the eyes that I had never seen. Maybe that
passion will be enough for my salvation.
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