Gebran Khalil Gebran
~
Heart of a child. Mind of a warrior. She's like a... a kind of fireworks that doesn't exist - a show like no other. You can't help but look up, into her eyes, and you only notice that the sky is clear after the raindrops start dripping down your chin. Then comes the prodigy, the boy who smells like childhood, the blindest and most brilliant composer of heartbeats I have ever met. He tries to cover his colorful soul with pale monochrome outfits. Little does he know that no one remembers what he wears, because the glow in his eyes blurs out everything else. So, in any case, she tells him all her weaknesses outright. And once he attempts to help her overcome them, she reveals that she was only testing him, that her only weakness is that she can never trust anyone.
Twelve years later, he writes her a letter. He tells her about his unrivaled capacity to find remarkable individuals, to observe them and marvel at every drop of awe leaping off their skin. He tells her about his friend, his best friend, how he saved his life, how he doesn't know that he saved his life because he never thanked him, that he one day will. He tells her that he loves her, that he always will. Later that year, she writes him a letter. She asks him why he hasn't written to her. She tells him that he's like a ghost, that he's always standing somewhere near, just staring at her, that she still checks that he isn't really there because her hands just need to make sure, even when she tells them not to. She also tells him that she met a guy who reminds her of him, a guy with a sunset on the back of his head.
[...]
People are only real if you want them to be. And those people never really leave. Everyone else does, like any chess piece in the game of conscious versus unconscious. But, they don't.
[...]
And love is that child knocking at your door, screaming poetry about fear and rain. And pain is this broken wrist that hid the doorknob in its veins. You find the key in the numbness. You find the key in this broken hourglass of incomplete tears, beats of a heart that's gone insane. And when you don't find the key, take your... take your cage back. I said - take your cage back. For these prison bars still spell your name. And your games no longer rhyme with rage. So blame the audience. Blame the stage. You still haven't opened the door. The echo of the child is gone. Run after him - run. He couldn't have gone too far. It's a different room. It's a different song. It's another field, another day, another heart where no rose can bloom. This smoke can travel beyond ideas of who you think you are. I don't know where you went wrong. I said - I don't know where I went wrong. I read words and eyes and I know when they're dead. So are you? Are you dead?
[...]
Arise, dear friend. Your pain is getting old. So stand up and fight. Fight for faith until it becomes you. The war has just begun. I said - the war has just begun.
~
“It is easier to fight for one’s principles than to live up to them.”
Alfred Adler