GRACE
I have been talking to a girl who actually tries to love me back—an experience entirely foreign to my life. The truth is, she is far too good for me, and I mean that sincerely. She was accepted into Brown University, she organizes school events, and she is lovely, gorgeous, and somehow intends to care for me. I wonder if I am being overly optimistic, or perhaps she is merely being kind; yet, the reality is that I have begun to care deeply.
I know I can be self-destructive, occasionally obsessive, and prone to overthinking. I once encountered a phrase that said, “Just don’t overthink, jazz it up”. It left me feeling somewhat hopeless because my life had become an unfinished work—a routine that repeats daily, even through the darkest hours. I need that spark again: the improvisation of life, much like jazz. High tones, frantic melodies, moments that are trembling and slow, then fast, then chaotic—but in the end, jazz leads me to peace. Art leads me to peace.
My friends are the kind of people who, if seen on the street, might be judged as irresponsible or dangerous teenagers; and in truth, they are a bit wild. Yet even they feel this emptiness. Though we may not be on the same page, the words that form us are composed of the same letters: we all feel scared, empty, or useless at times. We carry our traumas, our triumphs, and our descents within minds that are far too complex. That is why I write.
Returning to this girl: most of my peers prefer fleeting relationships—brief connections that are more physical than profound. But I could never love that way. I don’t say this to cast myself as "different," but because I genuinely cannot love without actually loving. When I care for someone, I give everything, though I try to keep it controlled; I am not a rampage of emotions. I often struggle to express myself, yet there are people who shift my perspective and help me articulate everything my hollow heart holds. She could be a path toward love—a point on the line I follow toward the future.
And as if there weren’t enough on my mind, the future looms... a prospect that terrifies me. Everything circles back to her. She is graceful. While I am happy for her success at Brown, it forces me to question my own path after school. I have no desire to go anywhere, yet I feel I don't truly stand out. At times I think I am a good writer, a decent guitarist, but never enough. I am a capable painter and scientist, yet still not good enough. I understand the emotions and minds of others, yet I remain a stranger to myself. I am not that graceful. I think nowadays there are exact ways things should be done; even love and hate seem to have a recipe. War and peace made out of knives.
What should I do? Anxiety carves its way into my wooden cheeks. I fall asleep and forget the weight of my thoughts, and in my dreams, I simply yearn to love myself. I already love her; I have felt both empty and full. I have tried to make things better for others, but what about me? Where do I excel? Sometimes my dreams feel entirely real, and I am haunted by constant déjà vus. Perhaps I should just sit in the garden and watch my reflection in the water. It is just water, pure water at least. Simple as the lotus flower grows, and I paint it, and I think of her, leaving it right there for the birds to admire the inspiration in improvisation—the grace that lays over the great portrait we named life. I only hope it doesn’t come with an etiquette, too.
2
1 comment
GRACE
powered by
skool.com/the-art-of-poetry-1080
Art of Poetry craft truth into rhythm. Find your voice, master imagery and form, write bravely, revise sharply, and turn life into lines that last.
Suggested communities
Powered by