to Sam, love Sam

"When they asked me what I wanted to be I said I didn't know.

'Oh sure you know,' the photographer said.

'She wants,' said Jay Lee wittily, 'to be everything.'"

I remember a time when I'd wish to be more like some of the people around me. I'd see those who appeared better off and I'd try to mold myself, just slightly, into their shells of happiness. There was a time when I was able to work on myself like I work on my paintings, changing minute details and shades of color, blending one spot for a second time if it just didn't seem right. Now a days I can't seem to work that magic. The paint of my personality has dried.

It seems I've gotten to a point where I can't wish to be anything other than myself because I am all I have and if I don't love that or trust that, I'll have nothing. If I don't trust the things I feel then I am insane. If I don't love myself then I am miserable.

This realization however, doesn't mean that I am happy. Loving myself, just like loving that boy across from me in psychology class or the one who won't talk to me anymore, doesn't mean I will be happy. My love doesn't make something perfect and it doesn't make it love me back. Trusting myself doesn't mean that I am right.

But there has to be hope.

Within ourselves we can go so many places and feel so much. We can be so, so many things within the scopes of ourselves. We just cannot be anyone else.

It doesn't make much sense, but very little of what we feel ever seems to. Does it?