Noticing an imperceptible movement of something you never give a second thought to is a monumental feat. Most of the time we’re too busy looking out the window to notice that we just want to look at ourselves. Most of the time we look into mirrors to be reassured that we aren’t disappearing yet. There always has to be some sort of psychological reprieve, a reassurance in having your ideals and ideas checked-in with the rest of your baggages.
That you choose to surround yourself with people who best reflect your “self-concept” is a strange synthesis of truth and falsifications, it can either be an outright lie or a humbling self-revelation. There is always a gap widening or a bridge being built between the world and yourself. Constantly jumping off or getting on. Narcissictic thought? Most probably. I could be the center of the Universe, an essential pivot point, a ballerina’s toe, balancing. “To be or not to be?”, that isn’t the question, it’s the answer, because the answer IS a question.
Had I been born with everything, would I be who I am right now, feeling like a child’s puzzle, unsolved, but very much alive. Had Morrisey gotten what he wanted by begging please please please, he wouldn’t have known how brokenly beautiful it is to have something beyond your outstretched fingers, out of reach, but very much attainable in the aspect that matters most, the Idea. The Idea, the broken chord, minor seventh, the missing link, the not-quite-yet.
Or the thought that’s at the tip of your tongue that you can’t seem to form into words. The absence is beauty because it isn’t absent at all and even if the world can’t see it or hear it, you know that you know.
