17

I always thought that a person was more than a number, more than a name, more than just appearance. Everything that makes a person is both quaint and unique in its own whole: the actions, the choices, the name and heritage, the experiences made.
A person is made by all of these things, it is not just made by random dialogues and random discussions. This is why I go around and am desirous of getting to know more of someone, more than the sum of their parts, something they don’t let be public for obvious reasons. This is why I wanted to know who you were, what made you do what you did that day, what made you so akin to me, your replies so similar to mine, yet special with your own input of experiences, point of view, thoughts. This is why I can’t let go easily of people I’ve come to know and get used to. I can’t stand how easily people enter and exit from your life when you get past acquaintances, I am earnest in wanting to know someone. I myself understand the fear of not opening to someone, and I can’t understand it completely on someone else because I know myself, but they don’t, nor I know them well enough nor am I mature enough to completely accept it.
I can’t forget strangers, people that I never identified but were kind to me or others, people that that day, that moment, with wods, actions, choices, brought a difference into someone, no matter how trivial it seemed.
I can’t forget those who left, although I may come to accept in the future, but the pain is still there. And it’s gnawing at my heart.

Teach me to recognize all the different faces of evil. Exact your own selfish satisfaction. Lead me down this valley of sorrow, I’ve only recently realized that we can never truly be alone. Show me the ripples of your existence. Allow me to see the type of energy you influence. Even the depths of space couldn’t comprehend the meaning of silence. Intricate as a sound wave, intergalactic frequency. Positive spirals along with negative. Lights dancing in the darkness. Harboring truth in madness. Sink down, drift around and keep searching for a purpose. The answers are just below the surface. All this pain must have some meaning. One day we will all find the reasons as to why our hearts insist on beating.