I used to think life was just a load of BS.
I used to think I've seen it all.
I used to think it'd be no big deal if I disappeared tomorrow, not to me, not to nobody.
I used to think life was overrated.
I used to think life hated me.
I used to think I could live alone.
But now I know,
That there's always more than meets the eye.
And now I know,
There's always something new to be seen in the same sights of everyday.
And now I know,
That living in the moment is a feeling of bliss like no other,
And now I know,
We have six senses, but we're usually closed to the sixth, the heart.
And now I know,
If you continue to tread the broken road, you'll pick up many shiny pebbles along the way.
There're people that,
Make you smile from the heart.
There're people that,
You'd trust with your life.
There're people that,
Make the sun shine through when skies are grey.
There're people that,
Paint your grayscale world technicolour.
And it's these people that,
Make your life worth living.
Let me tell you a story.
Your average Joe was driving along a freeway one day. He abides by the speed limit, for he is a simple, ordinary man. People zoom by in the fast lane, twice the speed or more than that of his. Speed demons, we call them. Demons they may be, engines howling, tires screeching as they zip past him, but they do not affect him, for the broken line on the asphalt is infinitely wider than it seems.
He lives an honest living, working as a salaryman, earning a meager wage. But he was happy with his life. After all, what was that not to be satisfied about? He had food to satiate his hunger. A home, he has, and returns to every day. A studio apartment, with four whitewashed walls, a meer 800 square feet, 800 square feet which encompassed his life. A nineteen inch TV, nothing fancy. Second-hand and ten years old it may be. But it serves its function. And he would never ask for more. A four poster bed, neatly made and it beckons him, beckons him to rest his weary head on a soft down pillow, beckons him to allow it to wash away his conciousness, beckons him to face the sight of warm orange, piercing into the calm, deep blue sky, which resists not, for none can escape the flow of time. And to its beckoning, he answers.
As he lies, he gazes at the night sky through the little window he always looks through. What he sees, is a beautiful sky, a deep indigo blanketed by grey clouds, lit up by the Moon, graciously shining down upon the Earth, which too, like you, bask in the moonlight, weary from the intense, unforgiving gaze of the day. But most of all, you notice that, today's sky, is not the same as yesterday's. He sees many stars. He loves looking at the sky, but most of all he loves the stars. "They're so pretty!" He thinks. They twinkle and shimmer. Some in harmony, some in discord. Some in phase, some not. Some fainter than others, some brighter than others. Sometimes he thinks, if they even realize he's here, gazing lovingly upon them from afar.
For he loves the sky so, and watches it every night, he notices how it changes. Some nights he sees no stars, for the lights of the city brighten the sky so, and their faint twinkling is masked by the bustling city underneath. But in loss, there is gain. He then gazes upon the brightly lit buildings below. Lights they may be, but under each and every one of those lights is a human life. And those lights flicker on and off ever so often. But most nights, the city is at peace, as the city sleeps as it rightfully should when the Sun slips ever so meekly down the horizon.
He names the stars he sees, for none of them are quite like another. The little one in the North-East he named Chris, and the cheeky one in the South, Jude was his name, A bold one, in the West, one that always seemed to have many others following him. That, he named Julius. A star, larger than the others, but always seemed a little lonely, Goliath, he called him, would be lurking in the East. And a restless one, flickering ever so often, affectionately called Peter, in the middle of them all. But he sees them one day, but maybe not another. Maybe one of them decided to hide behind a little grey cloud for the night. Maybe another just decided not to shine today. Maybe another went to visit his grandma at another end of the universe. And maybe another just had a fight with the others and escaped to join the day on the other side of Earth, for day and night never mingle, never overlap. But he'll come back some day.
These stars, they move around ever so often, so random, so spontaneous, all in the same night sky, but yet he wondered, do they say hi when they pass by each other? Or would they just be too absorbed in their own business. He wondered, whether Jace had met Julie, because he knew they'd be such a perfect match for each other. He marveled, at Charlotte and Sherene, always at polar opposites of the sky but he knew they were the best of friends. He smiles at the stars that twinkle, for stars twinkle when they smile, and so, he smiles back.
For many years he watches the night sky, but yet, he knows nothing of it, for one day it is what it is today, but becomes yesterday next week, and becomes something totally unknown next year. He loves the night sky so, and is afraid he might forget what it looks like today. So he takes out his sketchbook, and etches it onto the page, ever so dilligently. It doesn't look exactly like what he sees, but he cares not, for there is beauty in imperfection. Happy with his masterpiece, he allows himself to drift away, knowing he'd always be able to see every face of the night sky which he loved so much any time he wanted, now that he had it in his beloved sketchbook. Maybe at a later date he might be disappointed. For as time takes its toll, the pages yellow. Friction makes its mark, smearing the pencil marks, distorting the beautiful view he adored so. At a later date he would lament, but he would remember, he had a kindred spirit. He would then meet up a good friend, now old and grey, sketchbook in hand, ruffled at the edges, and yellow too, from aging. And together, they would piece together, the night skies they had fell in love with so long ago over, and continue sketching on those same pages. Yellow as they may be, sktech on those pages they will, till they can take no more, and crumble to dust.
Haha, okay. I'm done. I just sat down at my com feeling a sudden urge to write, poured everything out, and viola, the end product of two hours, here. It's probably very incoherent. My thoughts were rushing all over the place. I think it's the sugar rush. Dessert party on an empty is not a good idea XD So sorry there was so much extra Eme, we all wanted to eat more, we really did, but, now I know, there's only so much dessert you can eat XD And also, endorphins are good for you! =) And nothing releases a good bunch of 'em like a good laugh. Which I had plenty of today. Somehow I felt today was especially fun. It really was. Haha, anyways,
A BIG HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO JAMIE!
Haha, I better get some sleep now. I don't think my family or neighbours appreciate hard hard rock being blasted at 2:16AM from my new playlist courtesy of Angie. Lol x)
Cheers people,
Tim~
