Being Human.

I’ve never really come on here to talk about my feelings, and when I absolutely needed to, I always had them coded in an intricate manner or shawled in sarcastic repartees so that none if not a select few of you would get them. It’s not usually the page that scares me, but rather the people staring at it at the other end of this harmless screen, and what they can and will do when they come over that sort of inestimable knowledge. Then, being someone who uses detachment as a main defense mechanism, you stumble over someone who wears their heart on their sleeve, and you remember how you once were like that, how you always called it weak and berated yourself for being an idiot who never seems to learn; patching your way into that poker face that no one seems to see through, not even your closest..adherents, for lack of a better word. And yet, you never fail to catch yourself admiring their strength. It’s one thing to look impenetrably invincible, and a whole other thing to be one. The irony, which seems to be the main theme with life these days, is that it’s never how you think it will turn out. You’re only strong if you haven’t been affected enough to stop wearing your heart on your sleeve after so many afflictions. It shows admirable resilience and a wholeness that would usually be chipped off by time and what it carries in its folds.
It’s been said that art imitates life, and with architecture, if buildings were not built in a way that would react to the wind and sway in accordance, its stiffness would cause its collapse, much like the ashes you flick off the end of a cigarette with the click of a joint.
I’m impressed, and I’m not easily impressed.