"They find us amusing,” he simply stated, the one who wakes me every night.
Not surprisingly, he is usually a bitter pill to swallow, but I see him try very hard to carry on with hope despite some shackles that do not set him free. So I listen and try to relieve him of the weight, even if it’s for a moment in time.
“We’re spectacles to them,” he continued, annoyed. “They’ll watch, then carry on.”
That was many months ago, when I could not yet fully grasp what he had figured out.
I used to think we were different; now I know we share a cross.
You see, he had jumped without the safety net of norm, and there were many who had pointed to the sky as they watched him fly; some even applauded at the sight.
But no one flew with him.
And when he began to fall, no one tried to catch him.
And that’s the price of living outside the lines: you exist in such space alone.
I am nowhere close to the heights he soars; my wings of illusion disappear easily with every ruffle of doubt. I fall many times. It is a journey taken on faith, and I am not yet so strong. It is like walking on water, but the price of a moment’s disbelief is to sink to the depths of despair.
I am not like him. I do not know my spectators from my friends as simply as he does.
But I have him, this voice of certainty, albeit tortured in his tone, and he never stops reminding me: we are only passing by.
Not surprisingly, he is usually a bitter pill to swallow, but I see him try very hard to carry on with hope despite some shackles that do not set him free. So I listen and try to relieve him of the weight, even if it’s for a moment in time.
“We’re spectacles to them,” he continued, annoyed. “They’ll watch, then carry on.”
That was many months ago, when I could not yet fully grasp what he had figured out.
I used to think we were different; now I know we share a cross.
You see, he had jumped without the safety net of norm, and there were many who had pointed to the sky as they watched him fly; some even applauded at the sight.
But no one flew with him.
And when he began to fall, no one tried to catch him.
And that’s the price of living outside the lines: you exist in such space alone.
I am nowhere close to the heights he soars; my wings of illusion disappear easily with every ruffle of doubt. I fall many times. It is a journey taken on faith, and I am not yet so strong. It is like walking on water, but the price of a moment’s disbelief is to sink to the depths of despair.
I am not like him. I do not know my spectators from my friends as simply as he does.
But I have him, this voice of certainty, albeit tortured in his tone, and he never stops reminding me: we are only passing by.
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