Ghosts and Sidewalks

Every time I walk on to Florida States' campus, I am reminded that I am forgeting something very, very important.

I forget that I am the happiest I have been in a year.

I get so lost in the joy that my old home brings me- my family, my friends, my childhood. I enjoy every experience like a scene from a movie- I can play it over and over.
In it, I'm a ghost.
A ghost floating above my very own head, watching my actions and knowing what is coming at the same time.
God-like, but no comparison otherwise.
I see myself smile.
I see myself laugh.
My ghost does the same- and I know it's real.

With every step, my ghost is there, while my earthly body is trapped in Utopia. My ears are plugged with headphones blarring 2A.M. by Three More Shallows. Hands in pocket, stepping to the beat, lost in the sound.
Between the long stretches of clean pavement I walk, there are those nasty, weed-filled cracks. I'll trip here and there; I might even take a fall. But I'll never stop learning from them.

One major promise has been filled this past month- I respect myself again. I was put to a test twice, and both times I succeed with flying colors; and oh, how bright they were. Nothing can make me go back to feeling the way I once did. I'm clinging to my happiness like a baby blanket that I will never let go.

Pure happiness does not come from another persons good soul, but the reborn soul of your own.

The Pursuit

Trust:

Firm reliance on the integrity, ability, or character of a person or thing.
Custody; care.
One in which confidence is placed.
Reliance on something in the future; hope.

In my own opinion, this is the most difficult ability for me to do. I can't find the point of letting go of my self, my fears, or my heartache.

In this note, I won't fix it. It's just not possible. But some how, putting it down on paper, publishing it to the wandering eyes of unknown followers, gives me an invisible strength to work on making it better.

I know my fault and I accept it as a part of me.

In this seemingly, never ending process, I will steadily remove the solid cement from the walls that separate me from the things, human and non-human alike, that matter the most. All it takes is time.

In this process, Time has become my best friend. But one that I can never love. It will never work for me or work against me. It will never please nor fail. Time is its own and it serves no one, yet it serves everyone. Time will break the mold, only to make it again.



In order to understand the definition of trust, I have to write down the definition of another word--

Human.
Subject to or indicative of the weaknesses, imperfections, and fragility associated with humans.

In order to be human, I can not understand the world completely. Being able to trust is just a weakness that makes me who I am: human. I am imperfect. I am fragile. Incredibly fragile.
I won't ever have all the answers, and trying to figure them all out will only lead me to habitual stress, wicked anxiety, and an early death of sanity.

I'm in the search of meaning; with or without the answer.