People often look for me in others…
They put their lives in someone else’s hands. They give a smile to get me. They give me a body to rip me out. They are checking to see if I’m in someone else’s touch. Maybe I went out to another club tonight, so I’m gone. They don’t know if I’m curled up behind blue or green eyes. They write imaginary rules about me in their head. They expect others to hand me over respecting rules that have not been told to them. I stand at the bottom and shout out loud. And the voice did not break through the sediment of repressed worries.
People often look for me in the tangible exterior.
They hope to flash out of the house as soon as it takes the desired shape. They are listening to see if I’ll scream from the wheels of a new car. They try to weave me into shiny dresses and polished shoes. They try to implant me in their body, believing that I’m only going with one type of beauty. Few have the courage to descend into their depths.
People often look for me on the run from reality.
They dig at the most beautiful sunsets in all parts of the world. They break the letters in the books that they believe are hiding me. And the voice does not tire, because the true purpose does not stop. It’s mine to wake up.
Many deny me because they never had me.
They see me as an illusion because they never breathed me. They also deny that they met me. They call me “pretense”, “passing moment”, “ignorance”. I answer them only when they need to describe someone’s success whom they envy, or who do not understand.
I feel like they don’t know my meaning.
I feel him running away from me, desperately looking for me. People look for me even when they would not admit it in a dream. They ask me to fill in the gaps in nonsense, patterns and habits. They look for me in the short seconds before bed. In the only moments when they can’t be overwhelmed with obligations. I remain as a question, as an impulse. I remain as a distant, always desired and never realized dream. I remain like a fairy tale by which the masses are deceived. I’m becoming something to be expected. They are waiting for me after the first kiss, the first salary, the first child, the first pension. At first, they were afraid when I didn’t come. Then they dismissed me as nonsense, covering up the fear that they would never meet me. That they will never be able to ask me: “Where have you been all my life?” Why do you always get away with me for so little? Fear that I will always be in the future.
If you’ve ever looked for me, if you’ve ever believed in me, at least half a heartbeat, believe I’m here.
You hold me in your arms even when the world is falling apart. You hold me in your breath even when you run out of it. I’m always a part of your soul, and you forgot about it. Perhaps the hardest thing is that the path to me is through you, not around you. Perhaps the hardest thing is to sit with yourself and feel fulfilled. To love solitude, to overcome loneliness. Ask yourself what you really want to do? Reject yourself as a machine that shakes from birth to death. If death is already coming, isn’t it better to nurture your body by then? Isn’t it fantastic to fulfill all your wishes? Isn’t the only point to just laugh until then? Even when you have to cry, to know that it strengthens you and that tomorrow will pass.
Isn’t it better to meet as soon as possible? Let’s never ask ourselves why we’ve been looking for each other for so long? I hope you will be on the right path towards me immediately. I know you’re ready. Wait for you!
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