There is a center to these storms; an understanding and a safe ground to the ones which I call my thoughts. It is composed of and perfectly mixed into answers from every question that my eyes and my mind have consumed and conceived through vision, thought, and emotion, and it is backed by every inspiration and even every despondency that has found its way into my workings also; merits litter even the most disinclining situations. I push myself along in the hopes that I find its door finally laid out in front of me; in the hopes that I find it after just another one of these dragging steps that I force upon myself. I search for it now as I once searched for you and your love; the love that I never reclaimed. I search because here in this place, I'm rid of all confusion; I undress it from myself at its front door. And here in this place I find my calm, I find my quiet, and I find the order that lives beside them.
I often find myself huddled into this underlying shack that lies in the recesses of everything that was calm in my mind and in my heart. I stuttered, spoke, and screamed for responses and answers within this place, but my voice and its questions bounced back off of these basement-like walls and bled right back through my skin and right back into my ears, scrambling and hastening themselves back into what has been their home for God only knows how long; and they make it back here just as unanswered as they were from the start: I tilt my head and exhale in acceptance that these thoughts just can't escape me; my ear drums beat to the sound of the chains tied to their legs. And in time, I've grown to see that they want me just as little as I want them. That is the ultimate contradiction: It's funny how the world and all of the things in it, including self-emotion, can find comfort within pain. It leaves us all weak to our own comforts. So who's kidding who here? I can't lie and say that I haven't heard the outside slamming this hatch into its frame these past days, months, and years. The storm has been calling and the wind and the remaining world have been scraping at me and tearing at this hutch for so long. And the very truth, is that these foundations always fail. The lock will soon timid, and I see the screws slowly taking their reverse, just as I see the nails rusting more with every one of these storms that passes.
The sounds outside keep me pressed against the inner walls of my retreat. They're unclear and distorted with static at best. From inside, I won't ever know whether they're calling for me, or just passing over like I was never there to begin with. When the breeze stales, the noise in the room dies and hits the ground right in front of me as quick as my eyes do when you run through my head. The air is so thick with uncertainty that the sound waves can hardly make their way around the room without the wind riding, pushing, and driving them. I don't know where the drafts passing between the wooden cracks of these boards go here, let alone the color of the days outside. In these silences, I've toyed with the thoughts that maybe someone is finally at my door. But I await to no one knocking; I stand in suspense knowing in the back of my mind that no one is fighting to get in here; not this far into my head. Yet, my optimism has become involuntary, and thus, my hope still survives by the tiniest bits. I motion, but everything outside of this room begins to spin when I take that chance and edge myself to the founding and outer walls of this half-empty room. I press my eyes to the cracks of these boards, and look out to see a world with nothing but ghost trails; life passing by so quickly that I dizzy myself just trying to keep my eyes onto it. I pull back and remember the meanings of love that I have in my heart. I remember instantly how worth it that it is, although without a clear answer as to why, sometimes it only makes things spin even faster. I'm just not sure anymore whether I'm trying to convince the world that it is worth it, or just myself again. I haven't lost faith in what I feel and believe. Instead, I've lost faith in what I think that most of the others feel and believe. Many of us have eyes that see things for what they're worth as opposed to what its/their looks and mediocre impressions say and lie to us about, so in return many of us see the world for what the world is really worth. And in return to that, simply, many of us see a lot less than most do; a broader view and understanding of this place followed by a broader feeling of shame, disappointment, and guilt; because they, along with myself, know what’s out there: Even the tallest and strongest buildings founded upon honor and decency crumble from corruption. And now there is nothing but more decaying cement and ruins here than what’s left still standing with that honor and decency. And that guilt; we've all felt it at one point; the feeling that comes with the depravation of the world. Sadly, many of us are and have become desensitized to it. I feel guilty for what history has been subjected to repeatedly; everything about the degradation of virtue. I feel guilty for the subjected. And I feel guilty for the subjected, subjecting it. You see, none of us are innocent, we just lesser in degrees.
That world outside is so hung up in their rat race that they fail to take a step back to focus onto the entire puzzle as a whole, and see that there really is no road, exit, or walkway taking them to the simple answers to their questions of happiness within their ways of life. I wade, ankle deep in their emotions; in their extents of selflessness, love, and generosity, where I should be drowning instead. My only answer is to stay out of and wary of all of the water and ‘depths’ that they call theirs. So I stand on the edge, discreet, doubting, and wary. I haven’t grown cynical; I refuse it. Think what you will. I’ve just grown to understand why I fall so far from and out of reach from the others, including what so simplistically makes them happy; I wish I had that: That simple happiness, thriving below my laughter, my outer happiness, and the love that I give the world simply because it doesn’t deserve to be treated with my deeper misunderstandings and their anger. I really do. And in a sense, I do have it; even a simple smile from the right person turns my anger around. But that is the problem: It has to come from the right person. And I don’t mean anyone specific; I have one or two people in mind, but they aren’t the basis of it. It’s just that most of the smiles that I come across are forced, fake, and guilty. There is no innocence about them; that is if there is even a smile there at all to begin with. I have an overbearing mind, reading down into the further lackings of an individual from the simplest of actions that they take, and I can’t help it. In an instant I can be entirely turned off from an individual, from something as simple as a celebrity crush that they have. And my mind fights itself, because I know that they don’t deserve that. I don’t speak it, but they still don’t deserve me thinking it. It makes me shallow in its own sense. But it takes more than that for me to love, to care, and to be happy; more meaning than just pretense, naïve shallowness, and false hope. And that leaves me going empty, because the standard of self-respect has been draining from society for so long. Maybe I just don’t belong in this time frame. I witnessed an inseparable love from my grandparents, and he was there at her bed until the day that she died, with his hand in hers. I would do anything to see something like that again with my own two eyes, and I would do anything to feel it between my heart and another’s. I just can’t detach inner-beauty from outer-beauty; to me they are one-in-the-same. And chances are that the pretty girl who you can't seem to keep your eyes off of and out of your head is nothing more than another face that can't walk out of my life quickly enough. I haven't the time for shallowness anymore. I get enough of that from the rest of them. So I drag myself back to the inside of my retreat, steady my vision and my spinning head, and take a breath as the following storms and their lighting make their presence known off in the distance somewhere. I know that the rain is somewhere close behind it, falling like hail. It always is.
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