~Theories

~Not Here

What is it you think, that makes us cry?

I don't necessarily believe its pain. I haven't exactly decided exactly what it is yet, perhaps it doesn't really have to be anything at all.

But if not pain, then what?

I have recently come to find brokenness in a way as a beautiful thing.

I told you before how much of a cage this world is. But really if you look at the world outside of it, you realize there is no prison guard at the end of the line telling you can't get out.

There is no prison guard because there is no line, no end.

Outside of our world isn't a thousand names of constellations and stars.

Because really I don't think there is an outside to our world, but in someway there is.

Look up to the heavens in the night sky, don't think, don't speak, don't move, you'll dream. You'll see the outside, someway your mind will take you there.

Because I truly believe that the cars and the city's aren't it. There's life here, if you dare yourself to look close you'll see it.

You'll see what you've been seeing all along, except now your actually seeing it.

Your eyes can see what is there, but its your choice to choose to look or look away.

We usually choose look away without even realizing, I don't know why this is, but it is.

I think us humans only see the surface of things. The surface is at times is either too beautiful, or perhaps to hideous and sadly thats all we focus on.

We never choose to see the unseen.

There's a reason why its unseen, it isn't the surface. And our eyes see beyond the surface, but we're never interested.

I think we're wonderers.
Were all lost, well not all of us. Some of is have actually found our way. And others have looked, and although they think they've found what they are looking for, really they haven't. Most of us are lost, wonderers.

This isn't necessarily a bad thing. If you don't seek then you'll never find, if you've never found, you haven't lived.

Most of us haven't lived. Sadly humans get so swept up with trying to survive in this world that I times we forget to live, and by the time we finally remember its too late. We're already gone. We never found.

But in a way I don't think we are ever really gone. I think when we cross the finish line we don't break, I think we keep on driving until we find ourself in another race.

Grandpa died today.

It is why asked you the reason of why you think we cry. I still don't really now the answer, perhaps I never will.

But I do know that I wasn't sad. But everyone else was, their eyes red rimmed and bloodshot from endless tears. Their cheeks tainted red and raw.  I couldn't share the emotions they were feeling, that wasn't me.

I don't think am yet old enough to have known true despair. But I wasn't sad. About grandpa I mean, I wasn't sad about his death.

I hate that word, death. What a peculiar thing. 

His death was a strange to me. I think this was because death itself was a strange thing that was too often misunderstood.