Rare

Odd, unusual, intriguing, mysterious, scary, dangerous, powerful, humble, sweet, precious. Odd as the day that sees the floor wet but the windows shining. Odd as the eyes crossing through the bar only to find themselves caught in a mirror.

Odd, twisted, enlightened, orchestrated, redundant, vicious. Odd as the lips that bite themselves with fear and lust, odd as the blurriest line, that, to be encountered when fighting the ego.

Odd, little, great, the paradox, patient, cold yet warm, weird, the hand than trembles in a warm day, the pupils that threat the breaking of all boundaries.

It is not so unusual, do you know? To find yourself caught in abuse.

It is not so unusual, do you know? To find yourself trapped in a bed.

Is is not so unusual, do you know? To do whatever to survive, to keep the comfort, to help others. Is that humble? Do you believe self-sacrifice to be always honourable?

It is not so unusual, do you know? To break a heart, again and again.

It is not so unusual, do you know?

But it is rare, it is rare indeed, to forgive yourself from the abuse, to forgive those that abuse you, to be heal enough to stand out from the bed, to quit what hurts you, at the expense of losing everything you ever wanted, that, that you ever desired, to quit that lie you tell yourself all the time.

It is rare to have such eyes, deep as the death will look at you, but fill with the love, the love of the one who sees in secret.

It is rare to use your hands for only your pleasure and to be touched by pure love, that who knows you, who loves you, who loves all of you. To find that, to find such a thing, it is rare.

Humbleness

it is not our senses, those beautiful, at least, five gateways, those which imprison us, cause they all are only shades and stimuli, forever under the dictatorship of our self proclaimed freedom, the only true power granted to humankind, or taken by rebellion or as de-facto feature, our free will, our capacity to take a decision, to be a decision.

Yet, it is the actuators, the ones who shape the bars of our prison, our relentless search for emotions and the addiction granted by it, some of them to be called honorable like happiness or peace. An eternal search for a biochemical train of hormones in a bioquantum vessel, beautiful always, at least under one stimuli-starving sensor.

As it is, what it is, ignorance is our everyday meal, arrogantly tasted, assumed to be absolute, up to the extent of judging all other perspective, as at least incomplete, if not incorrect.

Slaves of our emotions and of our own perspective of them to be falsely assumed the same in others.

Yet, we owe to keep living, under the certainty of ignorance and the promise of more to come, forever with every new gained knowledge. The most pragmatic conclusion to sustain the only thing worth having, humbleness.