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Terminus: Silhouette Avenue
Jan. 29th, 2013 02:43 am
Jan. 29th, 2013
The Chicken & the Egg
Jan. 29th, 2013 06:08 pmI used to think myself not so much as strong, but rather as resilient. For every broken bone and heart I suffered, I somehow managed to dance another night, even if I had to limp to do so. Many were the days however I scrambled around on all fours wailing like a beast, scooping up the broken pieces from wounds self-inflicted and otherwise. A bug peeled from and frantically salvaging his crushed exoskeleton in the ruthless desert blare. Seashell chunks of shattered pride strapped into an armored carapace across my character and polished to a narcissus shine. The rest was thrown into resolve's furnace, before being hammered into a scaffold to erect around the battered cathedral of my intentions. With my insecurities well insulated I braved those crowds I despised and yearned to be at the center of. Some nights I wondered if I despised them because I wasn't at their center or if I yearned to be at their center because I despised them. The old chicken and the egg conundrum, I thought and it was then that I realized what I was doing made me both.
A Schrödinger's cat worthy paradox, as I existed in a quantum state of indeterminability that allowed me to both be too 'chicken' to risk a casual conversation and the shattered egg in which I hid at the same time. Which is no way for any man or woman to have to live. So over the years, I've been slowly crawling out of the shell. It's tough, and the stumbles cut deep without the armor to protect me from them. But sometimes what's needed most is not the strength to pick up the pieces but the wisdom not to. To forge new pieces instead. To step bravely into the harsh glare of misfired jokes and awkward silences. To climb out of the introspection to ask a fetching smile their number even if you think they think your own is zero. To raise your voice from the silence, and if for now all you can only dredge is a whisper, then roar them beautifully across the page for the world to see.
So when you see me next, don't count your chickens, much less your eggs, until you're sure your own have hatched.
A Schrödinger's cat worthy paradox, as I existed in a quantum state of indeterminability that allowed me to both be too 'chicken' to risk a casual conversation and the shattered egg in which I hid at the same time. Which is no way for any man or woman to have to live. So over the years, I've been slowly crawling out of the shell. It's tough, and the stumbles cut deep without the armor to protect me from them. But sometimes what's needed most is not the strength to pick up the pieces but the wisdom not to. To forge new pieces instead. To step bravely into the harsh glare of misfired jokes and awkward silences. To climb out of the introspection to ask a fetching smile their number even if you think they think your own is zero. To raise your voice from the silence, and if for now all you can only dredge is a whisper, then roar them beautifully across the page for the world to see.
So when you see me next, don't count your chickens, much less your eggs, until you're sure your own have hatched.