price of flying

So much held in a heart in a lifetime. So much held in a heart in a day, an hour, a moment. We are utterly open with no one, in the end — not mother and father, not wife or husband, not lover, not child, not friend. We open windows to each but we live alone in the house of the heart. Perhaps we must. Perhaps we could not bear to be so naked, for fear of a constantly harrowed heart. When young we think there will come one person who will savor and sustain us always; when we are older we know this is the dream of a child, that all hearts finally are bruised and scarred, scored and torn, repaired by time and will, patched by force of character, yet fragile and rickety forevermore, no matter how ferocious the defense and how many bricks you bring to the wall. You can brick up your heart as stout and tight and hard and cold and impregnable as you possibly can and down it comes in an instant, felled by a woman’s second glance, a child’s apple breath, the shatter of glass in the road, the words I have something to tell you, a cat with a broken spine dragging itself into the forest to die, the brush of your mother’s papery ancient hand in a thicket of your hair, the memory of your father’s voice early in the morning echoing from the kitchen where he is making pancakes for his children.

today is just one of those days that would fall under bad day, not necessarily because of something bad. maybe just because of this writing.

it details a pessimistic view of humans. the point it makes that humans don’t open themselves up completely. as i have heard, maybe it’s just a instinct of survival that we don’t open ourselves because it makes us vulnerable. there’s not so many times that we can leave from some tragedy unscathed and permanently wounded.

maybe it’s just my adolescence impulse kicking in but i want to be vulnerable, not that it’s fun or anything. but the fact being our life ahead of us can only become worse. having experienced a moment in life when you were able to entrust yourself completely to someone will be perhaps one of the most lasting experiences in one’s life.

but maybe it is uncontrollable, as the last five lines says. we have no choice. the moment just arrives and we have no control over ourselves. these are life defining experiences and i’ve always want to experience , to be moved by the experience of not being able to control ourselves.

i seem cold but it doesn’t mean i’m spiteful of the world. i’ve never had a capacity to hate. perhaps it’s not in my blood but as my mother says “make no enemies”. i follow after it based on the humanitarian philosophy that everyone has their own reasons. if we argued that all humans are logical being, then all of their actions would be correct. or maybe i’m just not a point in life where these results have directly changed my life for the better or worse.


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