Sometimes, loneliness scares us, and yet, perhaps it would be more appropriate to fear the fact that we’re actually surrounded with the wrong people. And there are more than a few of them. I find this interesting, because deep down I believe that life is a smart creature and the universe even more so, so why do souls that interfere, disturb and are generally useless, cross our path? It is a question that remains unanswered, and it’s not the only one. Winter sets things straight, I’ve never noticed this before. It’s similar to summer, which embraces you in rays of sunshine and it seems it’s never going to let go of you, until autumn comes along, much calmer and not as free-spirited, still charming in a way, but completely different. They say that snowflakes have souls. Each has its own thoughts and a free will, each is different from others, even if they seem the same at first glance. People are like snowflakes. We have similar stories, almost matching worries, lots of ups and downs, a love here and there, but in the end, we’re also very different from one another. I am so grateful for the road I’ve walked so far, most of all for all the perilous curves that sent me flying this way and that, without a moment’s hesitation. And it’s true: we ride without a helmet, we never know when we’re going to be thrown against the wall, our or what the consequences will be.
We all have a mission and a goal that we may or may not reach. The existence of things is not influenced by other people’s opinions, so perhaps it’s not that important to mind the world and tiptoe around so we don’t bother anyone. Sometimes, all I want to do is open a window and scream from the top of my lungs, there’s so much I’ve repressed, so many words I’ve swallowed so I wouldn’t inflict pain or be too loud. I guess it’s a matter of upbringing, being nice for better or worse, which definitely works, but it also comes with a price. And a high one at that. I have a friend, who is rude. So, why is she my friend, you’re going to ask. You’re right. I suppose she is direct, more than rude, and she tells you what she feels to your face. This bothers me, because I don’t want to hear her opinion, but she’ll still say it, which sometimes gets me into a rage, but in the long run, I think she lives a good life and her inner garbage bin is much smaller than mine. You see? Things happen, you let the steam out and move on…unfortunately, I was never able to do that.
I was brought up to bring love wherever I go. To be light, like the light at the end of the tunnel when people around me find themselves in the dark. To bestow blessings upon those in need (and there are more than a few), to be kind no matter the price (I am the champion in this department). It’s all nice and well, but you start losing yourself, as if you were constantly wearing a mask to protect yourself from the world and show your face to the world, but it isn’t necessarily your true self. Not that I’m wild at heart, maybe a bit rash and with very high expectations, which is not exactly a virtue. I live in a remote inner world, partly because I have a difficult time trusting, and partly because I feel snug in that world and I’m selfish and I choose not to share it. In Peter Pan’s words: “You know that place between sleep and awake, that place where you still remember dreaming? That’s where I’ll always love you. That’s where I’ll be waiting.” I believe there’s a bit of Peter Pan in all of us, a safe and quiet place where you can wait indefinitely and dream longer than you’re allowed, where you can stick your head in the clouds and stay so fragile that a snail can take you down. And, so what, even that is part of the magic of life.
Recovering is an art form that takes time, practice, and love. The start of a new year always makes us comprehensive about new projects and guardedly ponder our next step and the following one. I put on my quiet socks and climb on the sofa, nestle like a little mouse and think about my plans…maybe it’s just that I feel safer, when I sit higher up, because I don’t really feel like planning anything at all. There are two things that say a lot about who we are: our patience, when we don’t have anything, and our behavior, when we have everything. Everything else is just limbo, the status quo of breathing and living, with less than glowing optimism, because you keep losing touch with the simple things, not being able to to sense them, to feel the breaths you take and to feel love. And people come and go like at a bus station, when it seems like you know someone, but you’re not sure. So I’m standing on my platform and it’s raining. I imagine myself under the yellow umbrella that I never had and rubber boots I would never wear. But somehow I feel worm, even comfortable. And I always look for your face in the crowd, hoping to find you again.
Then the bus arrives. I’m still not sure I want to board it, even though I know it will not wait for me there forever.
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