Gibberish

[actorguy89]

There is an art to people. An art to watching relationships bloom and wither, an art to watching dynamics form. There is a certain beauty to good will that I’ve yet to fully understand. People are prone to make mistakes, no one an exception. There is an understated importance to the intention of things, to the true nature of a person, flawed as they may be. Actions are not without merit, but it takes a true wisdom/acceptance/understanding of one’s relationship to see past the action to the intention. It may come with maturity, it may come with selflessness, it may in fact be foolish. But it represents a hope for the best.  A hope that is to be cherished because, without it, what is there to believe in? If you can’t believe in the nature of people, if you can’t believe that there is a purpose for the people you surround yourself with, it almost makes it impossible to believe in yourself. We are the sum of all our pieces; we obtain our essence from the traits of those around us. From everyone you attribute importance, from each person for whom you feel any emotion whatsoever, be it dark or light, from them you gain a piece to your puzzle. You are the composite of not just your experiences, but those with whom you experience. It is in this way that imitation may in fact be the sincerest form of flattery; you are forming a piece of yourself, be it subconsciously, in their image. What greater compliment can there be, to see a part of yourself in someone else? With this comes a great responsibility: to be worthy of imitation. Simply because you are the composite of others does not grant you freedom from responsibility. It is your choice to adopt these pieces and, while you may be made of different parts, you are your own unique creation. At the same time that nothing about “you” is new, “you” have never been before. “You” are something truly remarkable and in you these pieces gain a new life, a new form, a new interpretation. In this way, there is a delicate balance to stubbornness,  for to sacrifice a piece of yourself would be to deprive you of your own uniqueness. You would be relinquishing a piece of yourself to another, not lending your qualities but having them taken from you and not absorbed but discarded. This stubbornness, however, is a state of mind. The true beauty lies in the thinking of it; no matter what it may feel like, you cannot lose yourself. Those pieces layer on, pile up, higher than you can see within yourself and they, like any variety of matter, cannot be destroyed. When you realize this, you’ve reached a point of new purpose. You understand that compromise for another is not sacrificing yourself, but rather an art form, a mutual act of willingness to give and willingness to receive, to engage with one another in hopes of a resolution. You cannot have everything you want because that is selfish, but if you live your life knowing what you need, how can you not attain it? I have never known anyone without a soul. And if that soul exists in you, this potential exists. It is impossible to stay this obnoxiously righteous all the time but on these nights, when the world is so quiet your breathing echoes, take the time to think about what matters. Think about what is right, regardless of pride, of sacrifice, of who’s right and who’s wrong. Think of what is just. Right. Believe in it and understand it and know it because, if you ask yourself enough, you know the answer. It’s a matter of willingness to accept it. That willingness, which you’ll reach in time, is the beauty of you. We can never all do what is right because I just don’t think the world’s ready for that. I don’t know if it can even happen, but I know the potential is there in everyone I’ve ever really known, no matter how much I’ve disregarded them. We can pursue right in hopes that, on these nights, that’s where we end up. And each response in which “right” can prevail, makes a composite of its own, the sum of all experiences. And at the end, that’s the last piece, when it all comes together and all parts of you converge. And that may very well be a masterpiece.

There’s a reason for everything. There just has to be.