God-forsaken Precipice

Maybe the world is meant to be a tangle of electricity, an uncontrollable myriad of emotions unraveled one by one. Maybe the shadows we see before we sleep are meant to be the friendliest of ghosts dressed in the black of the night, their whispers twisting in your head. Maybe home is supposed to be not where you were born, somewhere far and hidden, somewhere worth the falling rocks and rising water. Maybe the damsel in distress is meant to break the ground and save herself, disregarding the late hero who is not a hero at all. Maybe the eyes of strangers are meant to be flashing and sudden, so that curiosity can fill us. Maybe eternity is meant to be a second, a second or maybe a moment, a flash consisting of happiness – whatever happiness is to you. Maybe the sea is meant to be rough and soft, rock and roll and a mother’s lullaby. Maybe the scraped walls are meant to be left like that, founded like that, dumped like that. Maybe the sad and mad and bad words in your heart right now are meant to be stripped off and buried, but the world keeps holding and being, so it’s harder. Maybe the sound of a breaking heart isn’t a roar, but the littlest whisper, something fragile and the least audible. Maybe the heavy rope is meant to break, so you can have a long, quiet break, so you can rest.

Maybe love is meant to be imperfection – the imperfection of two people perfect for each other. Maybe love is meant to be different, in not the same colors. Maybe love isn’t meant to be trapped, but exposed and contagious. Maybe love is the naïve meeting of melting gold, delicate honey that burn and raging water, pouring heavens that flood. Maybe love is meant to jump out to you in pictures. Maybe love is admiration and adoration so strong you can’t hold back. Maybe love has no boundaries, no limits. Maybe love is supposed to be fearless and free. Maybe love is that spark, that group of fluttering butterflies, that firework show, that static electricity, that sudden intake of breath. Maybe love is meant to touch and affect. Maybe love is being dangerous and risk-taking. Maybe love is worth pain, hurt, and loneliness. Maybe love is falling in strong arms of some stranger who really isn’t a stranger. Maybe love is a pull, a tugging you feel. Love is confusing, but time will replace that “adjective” with another one, one that explains everything.

Maybe beauty isn’t immediate perfection. Maybe beauty is that gap in between two front teeth. Maybe beauty is the soul with an interesting story. Maybe beauty is tripping on the stairs and landing somewhere serene. Maybe beauty is how you develop and see. Maybe beauty is something more than models making girls feel ugly. Maybe beauty is the stopping of breath and widening of eyes of realization. And maybe it's the cause.

Just. Just maybe.

We’re stuck, but maybe we can let ourselves fall – for the experience, the thrill, the relief, and the freedom.