Beauty In The Breakdown.

When it comes down to it, I'm just another girl who writes about boys too much. I'm just another artists filling spaces with recreations of past masterpieces. I am nothing new and yet completely my own. My inspiration is typical and common. So where's the beauty, optimist? Why sweat it out when so many have come before, during, and after?

Because the same old problems never stop. The typical will never cease to be relatable. I'm unashamed to be a face in the crowd, because after all, there has to be so many like me surrounding for a crowd to be possible. It's rare for a person to stand out on the sidewalk and stare at the sun completely content. Most of us find home in others, comfort in the familiar but unidentical. Every experience shared is like one that has happened before, but no two are exact. Just a hair, a detail, a step to the left and slightly off-center. But this web of experience, of all life's obstacles, intertwines us all.

No one's alone. Even the rare few who wish for seclusion can never fully obtain it. There's consolation to be found, and sometimes in the most unlikely of sources. In fact, sometimes unlikely is exactly what we need. Sometimes the likely and solid fail to understand, and its then that we press out the wall of our comfort zone and let in more than we ever knew could fit in our life's personal, cramped cubicle.

So it makes us all completely unoriginal to know that virtually everything we'll ever face is shared. We live in a time where people go out of their way to wear shoes on the wrong feet or colors you can only see on the weekends just to be unique. Nonconformity has become conformity. It's cool to be crazy, so why get bogged down by the unoriginality of it all? We're all uniquely the same. We're all going out of our way to be just like our next door neighbors. It's a waste of time spending your life with something to prove.

Hello hypocrite, I've spent precious days doing just that. But I've also spent unending phone calls and miserable middles of the night with blotchy cheeks and words I'll wish I hadn't said the next day. But yet tomorrow came and I wasn't sorry. I woke up to a face on a pillow that stored my hysterics and took them as momentary. Nothing comes back to haunt you when you refuse to be spooked. I'm proud of days I spent openly vulnerable, spilling thoughts my dramatized, swollen heart dreamed up. Those time I broke round me out, and the days I spent with the broken are my biggest and best accomplishments.

I'm proud of humanity at its weakest. As strang as it sounds, I think people are beautiful when they allow themselves to meet vulnerability. Those times make us strongest when we look back, and they're time we should never be ashamed of. We all have them; the vicious cycle reminds us that we're never alone. Never be afraid to tear every wall down, to crush the house of cards you spent three days and four dollars on super glue to construct. Total strength from broken pieces. It's then, when you're completely drained of everything, that you can be free to have anything.

I'm not broken down and I'm flying high, but I'm braced and ready for whenever weakness rears. I'm unashamed, solace in place and prepared to console at the ring of a phone or speak of a front door. I won't let anyone feel alone. I hope this is how I can save the world, person by person. Closed-off is overrated. Wide arms embrace when your legs give out.

We're all part of this common thread. Extend your hands and stretch your hearts.