THE SCRIPT

 It all starts with the little things. The noise and the quiet, the warmth and the cold, the people and the places. He never quite understood what it meant or why it always seemed to happen just after his brightest smile. It didn’t hurt, there was no feeling it was more like a phase. 

A phase characterized by the want and the need to be alone with his demons. It was a phase characterized by so much despair that fighting those demons was never really an option. He let them be. He let them eat at his body, mind and soul but not in a bad way, in a way that was good, a kind of good he couldn’t explain, a kind of good he felt he needed. 

They never quite understood him. To them, he was just another lad with another bad day. He was just another lad that seemed to enjoy and understand the dark and broken things  all too well. 

For courtesy’s sake they would occassionally ask, ‘Are you Okay?’ And he would casually reply with a smile because he was not not okay; he was perfect – no, he was perfectly imperfect. He was in his element, he was himself. They never quite understood that and they never would but he didn’t mind and he never would.

See, they didn’t see the world the way he saw it. To them, the world was either black or white but he liked to think there were patches of grey and a rainbow color or two in there. 

They wanted everything defined, labelled and put in little tiny boxes but he thrilled in the mystery of the world. He never sought to find the answer rather he sought to feel, understand and get lost in the complexity of it all. 

When it came to people, he always seemed to be attracted to their dark and broken parts. He always seemed to understand them better than anyone else. It wasn’t because he did anything or said anything. No. It was just in his being. He seemed to make it better by being around almost as if he was absorbing all that dark matter and blending it with his own. And he loved it. 

But on days like these, the darkness seemed to get a little darker, a little bit more wild. The beauty about his pain and his struggle though lied in the hope of knowing tommorow would be better. Tommorow would bring more hope and a new sunshine. Today was bad but maybe just maybe if he closed his eyes hard enough and wished upon a wishing star, then tommorow would be better a day! 

His heart was kind and his soul was different. 

His, was a script he had come to memorize all too well. 

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