I'M TRYING TOO KEEP MYSELF FROM GOING INSANE, AIN'T THAT THE POINT OF THIS WHOLE DAMN THING?

I’ve been…failing a lot, if that’s the right term to even describe it. All my life I’ve been reaching for the highest numbers, but then I guess there comes a departure. 

But departing doesn’t really mean being stuck on the low forever. Planes go down all the time, but they’ll fly back up again, even higher than ever. It gets really dark in the night, but in a few hours it will be very bright and warm and sunny. You’ll see the sun rise up, and then you’ll realize that you are forgiven. You are given a second chance to rise up with the sun after you go down with it at dusk. It may seem as if you can’t see a way out, but that’s because you’re staying in the dark too much. There’s always a way out—it may be straight ahead, or a few directions behind, or a labyrinthine lane.

Or up.  

Don’t be scared to fly back up; life may catapult you to a different destination but that’s still a new destination to seek adventure in, to find more second chances in. We never really run out of sunsets, but we won’t run out of sunrises either. Redemption isn’t a mythical creature—it’s a five-year-old who’s overenthusiastic to play hide and seek with you; it won’t come out unless you really look for it, and it will be more than glad to be found. 

***

People suck at being people,
so they become paintings,
and airplanes,
and fridges, windows, and blankets.

They treat themselves as cigarettes;
kills themselves as they kill everyone around them,
especially the one whom they plant kisses on.

They treat themselves as piggy banks;
keeps their value and worth stored away inside,
and would consider themselves empty if they don’t have any,
not knowing that anyone can open them up and drain them,
and that vulnerability isn’t supposed to be accessed by anyone else,
just them.

They must treat themselves as a batch of roses;
its fragility is where its beauty lies.
They cause pain,
but that isn’t their main purpose, so they aren’t exactly known for it.
They are temporary, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t kept,
or remembered after.
Each holds a different fragment of significance that nothing can ever compare to.
And guess what,
each came from a patch of dirt,
but nobody cares where they come from,
or what they’ve been through,
so
why
do
we?