Recent advice states that I won't be happy unless I'm miserable.
Guest commentary discussed that I have an affinity for the depressing.
Someone said, "I don't really try to have emotions, I just do."
Interesting theory.
A Short Story.(Morbid Version)
There was, one cold night, a small boy walking out in the woods.
The snow flurries kissed his brown knit cap, two years used.
His mitted hands, like two swolen fingers, gripped precariously a precious stone.
Not precious to you or I, but to a child upon finding, a treasure.
As he made his way through the dark, he began to feel afraid that he had become lost.
He looked for the sun but instead found the moon in all her elegance.
Does she, like him, rise in the east? Does the coastline mark her ascent?
He was unsure, and being cold never helped one become sure when unsure.
He cried, standing, defeated in a matter of seconds, like any child.
In a brief pause to the snowstorm, his cries could be heard out in space.
But it started up again, entrenching the young one in half a cars worth of powder.
Outstretched in his hand, above the hill of crystals, he held that stone.
More precious in that one moment than the consideration of life, or of circumstance.
How naive, but what an expression of true love, unfiltered and pure.
Of course he survived, someone finds him.
His hat is seen again walking the woods next winter.
But until the day he died, no more real an affection or more honest a truth was spoke on his behalf.
Nothing can compare to the bright eyes that lead our way down the dark paths.
Never falter.
Never let it slip.
Hold it close like a lover.
Keep it alive like a fire.
Seek companions in the strangest places.
For your records, on my word, promise you will not let go.
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