Its later on in the evening now, and I write:
Continuing with my rant on perfection…I still don’t understand it. I mean they get to act like their all that, okay, maybe they are a little bit “all that” because as much as they act it, they are also treated like it. Still, its pointless putting one human being over another in value when were all the fucking same. The only thing that changes that is our personalities and if you ask me, somebody who will act like their all that and try to put it in your face that they are worth more then you because of clothing or looks, hell, they aren’t anything at all! Honestly… it’s pathetic and grotesque the way they act. Gong on now… Today. Well it wasn’t that much different then any other randomly sort of annoying day from my mind. People went on ignoring me and nothing new happened. Well, other then Jake and some other idiot. I forget the name of, fighting for Cloe, but that happens too much anyway. Well, I’m off. Write again later I suppose.
How is it that in this world disease chooses to infect those who least deserve an unjustified early death? How does it do that, not how, why does it do that? Suddenly there are people lying down and dying in hospital beds, on dirt roads, on straw stacks, all across the world it is happening, and when you sit and hold the hand of these people you realize, your watching life fade from the eyes of one of the most amazing people ever, and yet, while they die, and life bleeds from them taken without permission, assholes that break peoples confidence and force down so many brilliant people so that these assholes in their cruel selves are all that is seen, why are they living? Why? Its just not right. Not right at all.
Flipping back in my notebooks I found a section I wrote on it before…
“I look into her eyes, and I see in them something amazing. She is so strong, so brave. She isn’t crying, no, I don’t see one tear, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen tears in her eyes, and when I did, they didn’t stay long. But now? I would be crying… She could drop down, and be gone today, tomorrow, maybe even next minute… yet no. She doesn’t cry. She smiles. She doesn’t hide, she laughs. She acts as though nothing as wrong even though she could be rushed to hospital , and find herself alone. Maybe she is terrified, yet she doesn’t show it. Not to the world. She keeps that inside of her. She locks it up. She won’t let it out. Its like if she saw her disease, standing above her in the form of a person that could kick her ass… she would probably poke it and run away giggling her self silly because if she’s going to go down, if she’s not going to getup tomorrow, if she’s going to be killed, she’ll make sure that when her last breath leaves her, all the people around her can hear, is her laughter.Wow. She’s so amazing and still… people don’t see it.She’s so brave… but she doesn’t make a show out of itShe’s so loved, and she doesn’t take it for granted.Wow… she could be gone tomorrow… so she’s gonna kick your ass today.
I remember her; she is still amazing, and still kicking ass. She walks the edge between sanity and insanity so perfectly, with such an amazing grace. She still accepts if somebody does not see her, or particularly cares. She is still smiling; still laughing… she’s still amazing. So I guess I don’t remember her; I know her.
Love comes and love can go just as easily. But if it can slip, can leave, can fly so freely, then does it really exist or is just some sort of flitting illusion, dancing before your eyes making you want it and then, it is gone. Is it a magician’s magic? If so, who is this magician? The one standing in front of you, standing behind you while you aren’t aware of the presence, or is it the one that you trust…? Trust can be so strong that it can bind you into believing everything that you should fight against, it can be so weak that its not really there, the trust of truth becomes its own betrayal, and it can be just there, fragile in existence, and then, destroyed leaving only a trail of broken hearts and bleeding tears as your clue that it ever existed.
Leave a red rose on my coffin door…
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