|There is comfort in the suffering
Author: tolerate PM
Letters to people who will never know. The first is a miss-you letter, mundane; the second one is a sit-there-while-I-shout-abuse; ordinary of all sorts.Rated: Fiction K - English - Angst - Words: 426 - Reviews: 2 - Favs: 1 - Published: 10-30-12 - Status: Complete - id: 3069881
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Letters to people,
but forget about their names
lest they know.
don't you know that:
If I truly wanted to forget you, I would have thrown away all the things that we shared, the memories we had and all the smiles you've given me. All the tears you cursed me with after you left; you know I've, never for one second, forgotten about you. And I never wanted to. Maybe we had too much for me to even consider just letting it all go. I don't want to see the past free, I feel that there's always something about the pain and sorrow that makes me return and yearn for it. There is comfort in the suffering, to see the world of love after it and the appreciation of newborn friendship. It might have been better this way.
The world would be either a betraying shell, emptied of all sympathy or a paradise you'd love so much. It's the either of the two, that's what pain can do to you. It's just how you deal with it, how you feel about it, what you do after it and really, it's just your choice.
But we all chose to fall. We love the easy way out. We are desperate to be loved but we push the reaching hand away.
Oh, we're all the same. We really are.
And to another person,
Don't call ghosts ugly:
You would never understand the pain that they feel, all the things that they've gone through and all the love they've never felt. They are beautiful in their own ways, in the pain they have and hatred has never tasted so sweet. In their hatred, their anger and screams driven by insanity, there lies a melancholic essence, a ghost bearing the silhouette of a ballerina. Stare into their eyes and tell me they are ugly. But you can't do that, and do you know why? It's only because their eyes are a mirror to your soul and entire being, and really, ugly is a word more suitable for you than for them.
Someone like you, whose only worry is the plain ordinary, would never understand the beauty through the suffering and pain.
The beauty of a chaotic scenery, the withering rose, a broken swing. They have a past, a reason so strong, and maybe that's why you'd never understand. You haven't seen the world through dismal shattered glass, you're oblivious.