January 27th, 2012
I promise you that what you see is but the faded image of something once glorious. That in older days the image before you that seems so listless was once vibrant blue and red; jumping off the scenery and into a life—bursting at the seams for one more chance to love and learn; breathe and feel. I promise you that this figure which seems so struggled so suffering and seasonal was once a figure completely whole; was once something worth looking at and marveling over. But more importantly I promise you that those things have not faded but have absorbed into the pale dull flesh; that they still exist—internally—as magnificent mechanisms like gold plated cogs running and turning the graying machine before you.
I promise you there is no such thing as faded glory: only misunderstood and unnoticed beauty which shines miraculously off the inner walls and explodes outwards in a wrapping and twisting blanket of sheer brilliance—provided you give it a chance.
