For Miss Sunshine.

byjiran777

1.7K followers

Updated 10 years ago

Today, you will not notice me passing you by.

Too preoccupied with your own thoughts, you will not give a moment to glide your back my way as I make some room for myself to walk on. But I will not hunch over and pretend you are God. I will still put my chin up and walk through your path, or the path that will hold me nearer to you, whichever comes first.

My eyes, the brown of which fading to a noticeable cashew with every year added to my resume, will be covered in glass for added sparkle. My long and rumpled hair, white streaks on which gaining companions with every day added to my work schedule, will not pose a threat to your stick-straight locks. It will just kill it with ease. As cliché as it sounds, rumpled hair with a macho yet bohemian stance, I like to believe, gains more handsome points than a clean-cut straight-haired kid with absolutely no sense of culture. Or at least my bias to the artsy-fartsy side of it

But I do not believe in points for the sake of getting it, just the same as appreciating or making art for art’s sake. I call to higher motives, higher intentions, higher desires. Vanity is all about fitting in, right? And vanity only speaks of approval from others, am I not filibustering? With Interest comes Appreciation. And Interest lays the tracks to Respect. Unfortunately, Love railroads it. But do not tell me you didn’t like the idea.

But you will not think about those things as you casually flail your eyes past me. You will not even think of anything, I suppose. Anything, of course, except keeping that long black shiny hair straight. Which I can kill with my rumpled set with perfect ease.

But you will see the colorful chains constricting my wrist. Those colorful wooden cuffs, increasingly closing in on my hands, ruling it, admonishing it not to do anything, to not be anything. Just be. You will look closer with those big sunny smiles without really moving a step, and see that the Hands cradling those chains have given up in completely killing it. The Hands are now like rogue prisoners, locked and chainballed. You will want to take them off me, to finally set those prisoners free on parole on a fault not exactly their own; but you will not try it yourself.

You will look at me from Rumpled hair, confused head, to Grimy shoes, tired feet. You will see my almond eyes midway and stop there. But it is just that. You will just stop there. And looking for any fragment of health trapped inside, you will give up. And walk farther away. You will not realize that I have given up that vanity for something else. And you will never come close to fully embracing it either. You are dyslexic to anything deprived of glitter. Which explains why

Today, you will not notice me passing you by.