A Little Piece of You

I'm not even sure what to think of this story. Or if it's even a story at all. I wrote it late last night, when I was really tired but I couldn't sleep, and when I woke up this morning I just couldn't tell if it was good or not. So, I"ll leave it up to you guys to decide. This kind of reminds me of the rant I wrote yesterday, except its practically the exact opposite XD. Anyway, enjoy!

Do I even matter?

That’s a question that we’ll all have to face one day. A simple, four-word, yes-or-no question that lies within the heart and soul of each and every human being that’s ever breathed a breath of life. It swims within us, like a latent virus, waiting for the perfect opportunity to reveal itself and strike yet another victim. Whether young or old, it will come for you, too. Just watch and wait. Maybe it’s already behind you.

Like a cobra, it curls around your neck, hissing and spitting and tightening until the point where you can no longer ignore it. It whispers in your ear, the voice of doubt, telling you that you are nothing. The longer you wait to answer it, the more it tightens around you, and the less you find that you can breath.

It’s scary, I know it is, because often we find that the answer is something we’re not prepared for. It’s all our doubt, all out fear, rolled up into four little words and a question mark. Why we have to matter, why we have to mean something to this world, we’ll never know. We just do. Every part of us aches for it. It’s a darker side to being human. You have to care about your self-image, even after you die.

Do I even matter?

There’s that question again. Back to haunt us in all its beauty and disgust, joy and sadness, innocence and evil. Believe it or not, I know the answer to this question. It’s far simpler than anybody could have ever imagined. It’s so like human nature to complicate such a simple thing. The answer to this question is right in front of your eyes, and you never even saw it.

Do I even matter?

Not unless you make yourself matter.

That’s it. That’s the answer. So short, so simple. So true. In this world, as crazy and chaotic as it is, if you don’t make something of yourself, then there’s nobody else who will do it for you. Nobody. It’s your job—specifically yours, no one else’s—to go out there into the big, bad, scary world, and make your mark. Do something, whatever feels right, and use it to tell them all what you are really worth. It’s all up to you. I can’t do it for you, and you know this.

Don’t try to tell me that you cannot, because I know you. I know who you are. You are special. You live within your own mind. A world, a beautiful world, full of dreams, and opportunities, and thoughts, and feelings. There it is your safeguard, your hideaway. It’s where you dwell most happily.

Even with such a beautiful gift as yours, you refuse to share it with the world. I know this, I see it everyday. Your mind, your crazy little mind, is kept as far away as possible from where any living soul may find it. It hides a secret dream, from which you’ve told not a single being. It swims within you, beautiful and innocent and pure, and you keep it away from all others, fearing deep inside that if you let it out even a little bit, it will be tarnished by the hatred in this world. You just don’t want to be judged anymore. You’re too afraid to let it out. But I’m here to tell you that you are stronger then you think. If you take this wonderful dream and pull it out in the open, it will all be worth it. They may throw stones, try to crush your aching soul and burning heart, but you will always come out alive. I know this, I know you.

Your imagination is something that you hide with almost equal vigilance. What’s inside of this beautiful thing is unimaginable to the rest of society. Playfulness runs around in there like children on a swing set. Jokes are told and stories are shared. Wonderful, happy moments float around like loose clouds. Beneath them, sad, emotional truths linger only inches away. Everything is everywhere here, complete and utter chaos, but you like it that way. This is the part of yourself for which you're most proud. It’s where you go to hide when the world is far too scary. I’m here to tell you to no longer be afraid.

You need to listen to me, because I know you. You are me. I am you. Different lives, different visions, different souls, but at the core of it all we are the same. Our dreams and our desires. Our secret will to be known. Our attempt to leave a mark on this world. Deep down, we are both writers. Every part of us aches for it, screams for it.

Together, the two of us, we are unique. And we know this. We are unique, we are special, we are worth far more than we let others know. And we want, so badly, for other people to understand this. For the world to see that these little children are not normal kids at all, but something entirely different. Something special.

That is where the writing comes in. The part of the story where we make ourselves matter. Both of us, as complicated as we are, could never even dare to show anybody our true selves through our voices and our actions. But our words, that’s a different story. I dream individually, each and everyday, that I will become an author. You may not know this yet, but so do you. It’s our only chance.

Because you know what? Each little story I write, each short, magical sentence of it, is like a little piece of me. An insight into my portal of a mind, a look into my complicated personality. Someday, a hundred or so years from now when I’m dead and long gone, my writings will be the mark I left on this world. What’s left of my deceased and decaying self. A collection of papers that screams to all of humanity that I existed, and that I was not a normal girl. It’s what tells people that I am special. Without writing, I may as well have not existed at all.

I know you, because you are a writer. I may have never even spoken to you, never looked into your eyes or touched the soft skin on your hand, but that does not mean I am not your friend. For I am. And I know that, deep down, you want this too. So just do it. Close you eyes, take and breath, and write a story.

And woven inside every single sentence, every beautiful word, will be a little piece of you.