Keep writing these lists. Find what doesn’t change.
There is nothing you can do on this earth that is as great as loving God and loving other people. I’ve always been annoyed by how every single song is about love, every single thing in life centered around whether or not yo have someone special, and it still bothers me a bit. Because love is more often than not, not romantic love. It’s every single person in your life, your best friend and your family and the stranger whose bus ticket you offered to pay. True love starts in a heart that’s overflowing, and it’s everything, touches everyone.
I want to sparkle. Not in a twilighty, Edward Cullen kind of way but I feel a bit boring, a bit tired and empty, the corners of my mouth turned down in something else than artistic sadness. I’ve lost my inspiration and I’m thinking about what to do to get it back.
Perhaps because as every other person, I like to believe that I make my own choices. I don’t want someone looking at me and immediately know how the puzzle falls together, how my family relations and childhood shaped me until who I am today. Like anyone, I want to believe that the choices I made were my own and not the result of a predictable pattern.
I write because I’m terrified of forgetting. Because everything that happens to us – every experience, every emotion – and even things that don’t, things that just passes through our minds for mere moments, it will all sink into nothingness. Become a piece of the past, and the past itself is something that doesn’t exist. It did, but not anymore. And when I write, it’s like I chain those moments to reality. I think writers should be called heroes because they save.
Art can be born out of other things than pain. Yes, how beautiful is not the art of the broken-hearted? I heard someone say once that sad was happy, for deep people, and the problem with pain has always been in its ability to seduce that far overrides the one of happiness. Bittersweetness is the most beautiful feeling I know.
I’m trying to teach myself, trying to learn how you find your source of creativity in light instead. Because I’m starting to realize that the seduction of pain doesn’t mean it’s more satisfactory, it just means that it’s easier. But it’s also weak, and usually selfish, whether we choose to see that side of it or not. I’m trying to choose happiness.
I don’t even like the things that I like. By night I live, by night I grow and create and awaken, yet at night I fall. Deeper and deeper into myself since there’s no one else around to catch me. I love the freedom but hate that I’m not strong enough to handle it. Thank God I don’t have to do it on my own anyway. Because I want to stand up against thoughts that crowd my brain when the lights go out after having waited hours for me to let my guard down. I do not want to be afraid of the dark but I do not want to be in love with it either. Please, let me be happy by night.
eirians 