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One' Forty Two

It's hard being a writer, Because we set unrealistic expectations of the world. They say writers see the beauty in everything ; the whisper of breath across lover's faces, the hidden smile in a mother's remonstration, the last plea that comes when an argument ends and no ones around to hear it. And i wonder sometimes if what we see is the things that just don't exist. I wonder if the words have enhanced our world- view, or if they've actually wrapped it. I wonder if the beauty i see is not a desperate attempt to make my life mean something ; if in reality, meaning is just a human construct. What i see is something no one else does, but does that make me special, or just desperate?

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