The Immediacy of Pain: That Psychology Which Drives Us

My dearest friend and rival blogger, a Ghost in a cage, this one's for you.

The smell of summer is inextricably linked to the past. So with the scent of my most vivid memories I write these things.

I know what you're going through. It hurts.

It hurts in a completely irrational way.

Have you ever been in a room full of people who are works of art, but unaware of it? Beautiful, thrilling young folk who have wasted away to their surface layers and become subjects of the glorious, constant dissection of the minds of waning philosophers (I believe this is the colloquial definition of 'emo' by the way).

The artist, the philosopher, is drawing his own envy.

This artist is you.

You and I have both suffered from 'grandiosity', and these people have each had their share of time on our pedestals.. Here's my story.

About a year ago, I saw the most subjectively beautiful thing a summer could file into the cabinets of my memory.

I never understood the beauty of brown eyes until this pair, which seemed like a bottomless pool of meaning, came into my view for 7 hours and no more.

I suffered.

I suffered, like you, from the immediacy

of not having something that looked so valuable, so precious, and so perfect.

A month-long obsession of, I'd to anything just to see how this turns out.

I suddenly forgot the tenet that deep down, everyone is ordinary. I had to get rid of this feeling of not knowing.

I had to.

So I acted on it.

It worked. And it felt like a drug.

My new idol.

With a mind that spun endless labyrinths of words I could barely respond to quickly enough. So independent and so cynical and so much like me. For this one, I threw away my sense of judgment, my restraint... my sanity.

Time is the great destroyer.

Not of love, but of misconceptions.

Of veils and of your own grandeur.

We had a good run, and it remains a treasured memory. Maybe we'll see each other sometime.

There will be things you wonder about for the rest of your life, and I'm going to tell you to absolutely go after them if you think you have the slightest chance of working anything out. Don't worry about your pride. It'll be a truly worthy experience at the least.

But if you are hopelessly distant from your star:

There's no such mystic force so great as to overcome reality.

There never will be. And don't worry your mind sick over it.