Messy Stuff
I’m still waiting for the day that I inspire the people who have inspired me.
or so I thought...
The thing about these people who inspire me is that their very existence is the reason why I continue. Normally, people would consider words, art, movement, tune, and ideas as their reason to look beyond existence, to put people on a higher pedestal so that we have something to reach; however, I look at features, their voices, preferences, views, sometimes the way they lean on another’s shoulder. Something about the way they talk, the way they hold themselves together corners me, traps me like the helpless creature I am. I wonder why.
Having put these figures above myself, I manage to stand behind their shadows as I aspire to reach them. See, that’s the problem here. My drive to continue is not because I am inspired to finish this (whatever this is), but because I aspire to reach where they are standing now. In reality, they never really cared who looked up to them, who they saved in the process of making themselves better, who is actually holding on to that last thread trying to save themselves. They never did.
How do you expect someone like me, who has never found a single inspiration in this world, who has never found someone to give him hope, someone who dared step out of the dark but ended up being thrown back, inspire someone else?
You, who has never experienced the light, will never know how to give light.
