Why are things the way they are, and why am I feeling the way I do right now? Who is to tell what will be alright and what the right decisions are? Who is to say anything but otherwise?
Some people are happy, some people are sad. Some people are content, some people are mad. Some people love and some people hate.
Where am I on that spectrum of opposite feelings? More to the negative than to the positive, but that's just to say the least. Everything's been melancholy and nothing has gone great. I didn't ask things to go great. I merely hoped things would go well, being conservative with my expectations only because they never turn out the way I would want them to. And with that expectation, has everything gone "well"? Yes and no. Yes in the sense that nothing essentially has gone wrong but no as in nothing essentially has gone right. I have not been put in scorn by people I know and associate with, but I have not been accepted in the way I would want to be accepted by the people or persons that I want acceptance from. I shouldn't even ask to be accepted. What kind of person am I? Where is my dignity? Where is my pride?
To me, those feelings, those people, those thoughts, are like a magic spell that opens an old door, a door that should stay closed.
I ask this of you: have you heard of this story before?
There was once a man that went on a safari. He injures his leg during a hunt. He's in the middle of the savanna with no means to treat the wound. The leg rots and death approaches. At the last minute, he's picked up by an airplane. He looks down and sees a land of pure white below him; glistening in the light is the summit of a snow-capped mountain. The mountain is Kilimanjaro. As the man gazes down, he feels the life flowing out of him and thinks, "That's where I was headed." He dies soon after.
I hate stories like that. Men only think about their past right before their death, as if they were searching frantically for proof that they were alive.
Reason exists in many forms and expression, but there isn't any to search for it as a means to justify your existance, or to myself, my existance. There doesn't need to be any contemplation for why something happened. It's all right there, right in front of your face. You are only blinded by your ambition because you think you have some valued existance in this life, and by doing so you miss the big picture.
There doesn't need to be a reason for death, sadness, anger, happiness, or love. Especially love. Because these ideas, these things, are the ones that reveal themselves to you. The reason is all there, the reason is all in yourself.
When I think about you, I think of this:
Everything has a beginning and an end. Life is just a cycle of starts and stops. There are ends we don't desire, but they're inevitable. We have to face them. That's what being human is all about. Simply put: the past is the past and the future is the future. A man is a man and a woman is a woman. The present is the present. I am who I am and you are who you are. That's all there is to it. Do we really matter? Do I matter to you as much as you matter to me? And do you really matter to me as much as I matter to you?
Or do we just think it does?
I hate being sentimental.
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