Bookmark #831

There is an odd sort of idealism in me. It is neutral, almost quixotic. It is not an urge to change the world or transform it into something it is not, but to accept it for all it is and hope for it to correct itself and fix its course. There is belief in the right and true, and there is no need for a god to threaten me into believing it. I believe in goodness because it is the only course of action from where I stand. I feel out of place wherever I go, and yet, I find commonality in a jiffy, almost instantly. I meet a person, and they tell me their story, and I see we are all the same in the ways that matter.

But my neutrality has a tinge of selfishness to it now. It wants to be seen how it sees the world. And this selfishness does not sit well. In fact, it does not sit at all. Like an impatient dog, it walks about in the gallery of my mind, wagging its tail and asking to be let out. Of course, I cannot do so, and I contain it as much as I can, but often, it sneaks off before I realise, without realising, I make a demand from life.

A demand that begs for another person who understands me as well as I do others, who sees me like people see the sky, without asking the purpose of it being blue. But so far, it has been a request denied, over and over. The stamp has begun to lose its bevel. The edges that would make up the words have blended into the background. Now, like a dilapidated version of its old self, it slams only a blot on my soul. I cannot read the words, but I know it is still a request rejected. This has caused great awryness within me. It has also caused a swig of loneliness, which has not gone down softly. It has cut my throat like the sharpest of liquor. It has made me wince without my realising it.

To say I was exhausted would be an understatement. Why, then, do I go on living, and what causes my spirits to remain high? The same idealism, what else! The death of hope never occurs. I want to feel hopelessness and dejection, but before they can even think of squatting in the vacant rooms of my heart, the light of hope drives them out. It seems my mind knows no permanent despair, only bits and pieces until they disappear.

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