Ordinary Person

Hi Guys. Just a note this is a “poetic” rant so some phrases may seem disconnected from others.

We want to be special. We want to be famous. We want to leave a mark on this world so that everyone can remember us before, now, after. We long for the love of others, it makes us feel special, needed. Maybe love is the only thing that isn’t unique that makes us feel special. People probably fall in love all the time, every day, every minute, every second. Which romance book or movie has not exhausted every single way to love?

But if love isn’t as special as we think, why is it so powerful? It can drive you to murder. It can drive you to depression. It can drive you to believe lies. But it can also lead you to feel joy. It can lead you to sacrifice. It can lead you to change.

Though people say love is just our bodies tricking us to procreate, think again. What about the love of family, the love of friends? The love of family, the love of friends, the love of a lover, their all the same. They all have the same roles. To love you. To care for you. To make you happy. So it doesn’t matter if you don’t have all three, they are all the same.

Or maybe it is all a trick, an illusion. To keep you alive when you want to die, believing someone will find you, love you, heal you, piece you together. We always try to fix what’s broken…but the tiny shards always slip through the gaps in our fingers. But why, why do we still feel so empty without love, without the eternal but fake love that is presented to us through various medians, that we chose to believe?

I want to be loved like an ordinary person. But am I not pretty enough? Not smart enough? Not thin enough? We want to be loved for being ourselves, that’s what they say love is. Is it too much to ask? Is that why I keep hanging on to a lifeline I want to sever? Is that why I keep waiting even though my mind, my heart is clogged by tears I can’t cry? Is that why I lie because I believe that someone will find me and piece me together? Is that why I keep waiting, as people that say they love me leave without a second though? Self doubt even though it wasn’t my fault, it grips me at my worst, it comes out as a single drop of rain.

I want to have wings, to lift me high. I want to have hands to catch me when I stumble. I want to have arms to hug me when I cry. I though it existed, but it crumbled, pencil to paper, paper to shreds.

I want to be loved like an ordinary person.