The price of idealism.....

Sometimes you sit, wondering to yourself, if there is any kind of hope, for this world, for what people call home, for what people call a place to live. You wonder if God, wherever he may be, whoever he may be, whatever he may believe or choose to say, will forgive people for what they do to each other, but as you think this you just wonder whether or not God left this planet, this pathetic excuse for a world, a long time ago.

You stood there, by the water, looking across, and waiting. You know she’s usually late, you haven’t known her for long, but its one thing she’s always been honest about, she leaves the house the minute she is supposed to be at her destination, the mark of a young woman who is responsible for her own destiny, who makes her mark without effort. As you turn around it hits your senses, not with a tap, but with explosions of colour, of expression.

She’s walking towards you, her thumbs in her pockets, long flowing hair, a smile so bright, glowing with such delight, it could light up a runway in the dead of night, you can see her from afar, and you know, that as she get’s closer, the view will become even more special, even more extraordinary. To your amazement, your prediction of scenery unbeknownst to beauty, is false, she waves at you, as she does you notice that the view is far more fantastic, far more stunning, far more unbelievable, than imagination could ever hope to depict.

When you remember things like this, you think to yourself, that maybe God is still here, maybe he didn’t give up, and maybe he didn’t leave this world having failed in his purpose, to create beauty, beyond what optimism can astonish.

'Show me a hero and I’ll write you a tragedy.'

F. Scott Fitzgerald