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The world isn’t full of enough mediums of expression. There’s nothing I could do that will portray how I feel and what I see justly. There’s a world so rich inside of me. Rich isn’t even a good enough word to describe. The truth in the world doesn’t bring our dreams and our minds into color. That’s what we ache for. Is to define what we have left inside of us. Being realistic only fuels the hurt inside. The definition of ourselves is often mistaken for truth, proven with evidence. Searching for truth will not define. We live in an unfit world that doesn’t bring justice to our hopes and dreams. When you search truth, you will find this world to be exactly that. Tangible, easily understood, and not what we want.
It isn’t truth you want. We often believe because we live in this world, that it is a part of us. That it is in some way connected to us, similar to our hopes and dreams. That because of this belief, we need to understand. We think that the definition of ourselves can be found in this world. Which is not true. The definition of oneself can be found just there…in oneself.
If you abide by the laws of this world, you will become dry, dull, sick, and empty, just like the world. The world is nothing without us. Without what we give to it. We say what is beautiful. We give meaning to sunsets and rainbows. The world is merely a canvas for us to attempt to bring ourselves meaning and definition. Or, whatever you choose to do.
If a painter looked at a blank canvas, and accepted the way it was, he would not be a painter. Although he had the ability to make change, he would not. He would become the canvas. Empty, like a blank piece of paper. Because of accepting what is, he became what is.
Its our will and our dreams, the undefined inside us which drives us to make change. To make something beautiful to us. To make this blank canvas just a little less deserted. Definition of what we feel can bring into focus something so beautiful, that words cant describe. Just imagine the world inside of your head being summed up into one word, or a short sentence. As if reading that sentence would make you feel your entire world in its infinites. Just how amazing would that be. Of course, maybe we cant define it because if we did, it wouldn’t be so great or as infinite. It wouldn’t mean as much. It would be miniscule. It would be like “grass” or “sky“. It would be summed up in one word, and no longer left open for change or seen as mysterious and beautiful because of it’s complexities. No longer left deep in thought, in the recesses of the mind. It would be dry, and no longer infinitely rich. It would be limited to that one word, or that one sentence. Life is an infinite canvas, with infinite paint, and an infinite will to make change.
"In this world, we are never lacking. Only losing what we have in hope of gaining what we dont."
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