I think I look better in black and white as opposed to being in living color. Why do I think that? I wonder this thing because I do notice that my wardrobe is primarily plain white or black tee shirts, I notice that I prefer black and white shoes as well, black socks over white socks though.
Do I lack character because I lack color in my life, or does that give me character? One thing though I have noticed is, is that I’ve often had a very strong desire to just let my body somehow fade into the setting sun just before it disappears behind the horizon. What can I take away from that wondering? Am I a dull, black and white sword with jagged edges, or am I a sunset of infinite passion and color?
I have a profound desire for passion but I think others perceive me as being very cold and distant. I simply stand farther away from the fire than most but that only means I appreciate its warmth more than most. But sometimes the fire goes out and I am left in the distance alone and cold with only the thought of how warm I could have been. My only comfort from this way is that regardless of how warm I could have been I’d still rather be in my position, understanding and able to exist steadily in the midst of the darkest most troubling times when others around me panic and fear because they’ve not ever ventured far from the fire before.
I conclude from this that I would prefer to have witnessed from a far the whole scene as it goes out rather than being right in the midst of the event; perspective being swayed back and forth like homeless waters with every headache conjuring witticism that each continually rarer ember that floats into the air carries with it to the skin it lands on. I observe the goingons of the whole flickering fire with my poetic heart, for I feel it my duty to be the observer whose own desires do not supersede the importance of the very record in and of itself.
Does this mean I can’t ever be happy, even just happy in those moments the fire is brightly burning? I only answer this question with another question; are they who stand their whole lives by the fire happy when it fades away?
My only reserve about being the lone observer is that I’ve recently discovered that I have something beautiful that I feel slightly selfish by keeping to myself out there in the night, flickering fire just a speck of amber in my eyes and the shadows dancing around it wrongly signifying other’s happiness yet it still ushers emotions and desires of acceptance by those whom I love and appreciate in my still, almost non-existent way.
This beautiful thing, what is it? It itself as I start to see its significance testifies to me that it is my perspective out there in the night that is what it is that is beautiful. I feel as though I’ve had a shift of thought upon my place recently which has not changed my mind on my lot but given me a truer, less grueling perspective of it. Before, I simply thought that my place out there was always going to be painful and cold and I simply said to myself, “I accept this pain as my lot,” because accepting it somehow made it easier for me to handle, but what I realize now is that my place out there is not painful, it is beautiful, and it is becoming easier to witness from a far the events without shunning all those whom I do witness and do love.
So, am I black and white? Am I a cold sword? Maybe, but my edges are only as they are because they didn’t simply stand by the fire at one time; they were shaped and beaten in the very furnace of affliction itself, yet also the furnace from an intimate view I would also name the furnace of passion and beauty. |
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I am black and white in what I believe is true, but my heart is not bound by that utter contrast of light and dark in determining its passion for who it loves.
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