Sunday, February 24, 2008
Men sometimes have to put on masks, layers and layers after layers of them. All for the sake of covering the tears behind them. But these masks, who are they for? The viewer or the viewed?
If mine were eyes that weren't opened would I've been happier? If mine were the eyes that have not seen what others do not, would i be glad? If mine were eyes that could not 'see', could I still have done all I have done?
I stared into those eyes blessed with perfection, its beauty grasping tightly on my attention. But within those eyes i did not see my own transient existence but within their deep captivity i saw pain i never saw before. I saw pain that did not originate from him but from everyone else. The pain that plagued each and every soul and matter in our world had all been clearly represented within those eyes who have seen the misery of our world. I cried.
If mine were eyes that weren't opened would I've been happier? If mine were the eyes that have not seen what others do not, would i be glad? If mine were eyes that could not 'see', could I still have done all I have done?
I stared into those eyes blessed with perfection, its beauty grasping tightly on my attention. But within those eyes i did not see my own transient existence but within their deep captivity i saw pain i never saw before. I saw pain that did not originate from him but from everyone else. The pain that plagued each and every soul and matter in our world had all been clearly represented within those eyes who have seen the misery of our world. I cried.
what we could have been, 8:28 PM.
