Somewhere along the line, I lost a part of myself. Day after day, I searched for it. Never realizing that the unending emptiness I tried so hard to relieve, was because a piece of me was missing. I kept searching outward. With only an aching feeling of dissatisfaction to lead me. Days would pass, and no matter what I did, this yearning never completely diminished. I am broken. And despite how sad that little sentence sounds, I feel myself at peace with that admission. It feels like a step forward. One that leads me closer to whatever it is I lost. I now know that I’ve been looking for it in the wrong place. Up until this point, my search for fulfillment had been through external means. I depended on others to validate my existence, my self worth. And every time I did this, I was left wondering why such instances only brought fleeting moments of satisfaction. It never lasted, and it always kept me aching, grasping for that feeling of wholeness once again. I …
Even without the finery. The right clothes, matching shoes, and accessories placed just so.. Is the ability to hold your head up high and still face the world. [But makeup never hurt.]
When the world becomes overwhelming, go find solace at a beach. There’s just something soothing about immersing your feet into the waves, breathing in the salt of the sea, and letting your hair dance wildly in the wind. Let these simple feelings bring tranquility to your tired soul. Hopefully, you’ll walk away as refreshed as I usually do.
Found myself wandering the Museum of Fine Arts yesterday. Out of the many interesting exhibits, this one left me with the most lasting impression. I’m not sure what the artist was trying to portray, but I imagine this is what would happen if we caught King Midas frenching someone.
She smiles so sadly. An upward tilt of the lips that barely constitutes as a smile. It looks forced. A mask as fragile as porcelain. An untouchable display for other people’s viewing. Her smile is lonely. Some would say cold, but if they bothered to look into her eyes they would see her pain. I want to tell her it’s okay. It’s okay to feel sad. That she didn’t need to smile if she didn’t mean it. Yet my words are stuck. My lips are formed into their own twisted smile. One that feels just as forced as hers looked. I’m not willing to drop my mask, and I understand she might not be willing to drop hers either. So we smile. Both forcing a front of happiness that neither person feel. As we give empty smiles to one another, I realize I can see her sadness because it resonates with mine. Two unwavering facades put on for the world. Two sad, meaningless smiles.