Food For Thought

I've been thinking heavily about my last blog post. How happiness makes life beautiful, all about the beauty of life and what causes life to be seen as beautiful, as many see it. Unfortunately, I have witnessed many flaws in happiness being the beauty of life. In fact, the happiness that we spread amongst each other like a plague is the same force that drives many people into their own sadness. It's highly ironic. But it exists.

Human nature perplexes me.

The way we view life has several different vantage points, there is no one person that sees the world the same as another. Our minds just don't work the same way. We are all the same anatomy when it comes to the brain, but the contents of the brain are all so very unique. I picture the mind like a book. Every book ever made consists of the same materials: pages, a cover, and events within that tell the story of who we are. We all have our own books with our own stories. However, the books themselves are significantly different. Some are childrens books, others are Dan Brown novels that seem to have no end (or point, speaking of Dan Brown novels). The contents of one book might be of all of the incredible accomplishments that one has overcome, and others might contain the tragic tale of childhood and how loathsome the world is. Some books have damage to the cover, or some pages are ripped out.No one book is alike.

Anyways, I digress.

It seems that I share the similar story with a couple people. It seems that one's happiness affects me deeply. There's something so painful in losing someone, knowing that they are in a better place. A better situation. Away from everything we have to dwell with. Although comforting at times, those lingering memories break the foundations of the strongest buildings. Lately, I've been experiencing quite a bit of tragedy in my life. Suprise? Not to some. Seeing a lot of those memories around my life has been gradually strangling me, choking me under my own will. I've been lost for quite a while.

Yet, lately, I haven't been able to find those pages that tell the particular chapter of my tragedies. There is only empty space now from where the pages have been ripped out of their place. Now there is only a gap in my book.

I'm quite content with that.

Since those pages have been missing, I have been re-writing my whole entire book. My story is no longer that of tragedies. I can now say what I have accomplished, what I have gone through, and how I am drasticly different now than I was at that point in time. It's one of the greatest feelings you could ever feel. However, people are beginning to read my story. Now they seem to be traveling down the same road I was not too long ago.

I really wish people wouldn't follow my footsteps sometimes.

Just a thought.