What does it take to say to a person, “I love you. I miss you. Very, very much. I’m waiting to see you again, to talk to you once more…” What does it take to not think, “I’m always the one who says it, and that’s why I’m not going to say it anymore.” What does it take to know that you’re probably the only one who’s feeling this way, and not feel belittled by that realization?
What does it take to pick up the phone and call your best friend and tell her that you miss talking to her? That you don’t really care who it is that makes her happy, or how, or what it is that she is doing with her life? That you are afraid - very, very afraid, because she is about all you have - that she is drifting apart?
What does it take to admit to yourself that you aren’t that perfect human being you’d like to think you are, that you aren’t always spectacular, brilliant, but just normal, ordinary. What does it take to allow yourself a moment of being not right, not best, not bedazzling, but just ordinary, and feel alright about that?
It takes a largeness of heart that you’ve only heard of, seldom seen. Immense strength, to be able to recognize your own smallness, your insignificance in the universal scheme of things. Brutal honesty, to be able to see the pointlessness of your ego.
What does it take to be able to tell yourself that sometimes, you have none of these qualities?
What is the level of maturity you need to be able to see all those moments in time when you have been blindingly, shamefully immature? What does it take to be able to tiptoe around each one of these moments, gather them up in your arms and walk away in silence?
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