You do not have to pretend in front of me because I do not expect you to be like everyone else. I don’t care if you don’t have any goals; I don’t care if you want to follow the trail of a butterfly; I don’t care if you don’t manage to accumulate the riches of the world.
What I care about is what you want; what your deepest desires are; what brings that glint in your eyes.
Getting up daily in the morning with the plan of doing what’s expected of you is not life. It’s a prison. A prison wherein each of your dreams are systematically shattered. A prison which robs you of your true identity. A prison which wants you to stop living and start existing.
I love each and every inch of you. Why? Because you are messy, chaotic and cluttered where it matters the most. You don’t want to lie just to appease social niceties. You do not want to pretend to be happy when every atom of your soul is hungry for love. You do not want to hang your face in shame for wanting what’s unexpected of you.
You are somebody’s son, somebody’s brother, somebody’s friend. But you are also you – made up of mad longings, crazy dreams and wacky ideas.
Yes, you have failed. Not once but repeatedly. And every time you fail, a part of you dies. Or so it seems to you. Because each time you fail, you are becoming the better version of you. A version that won’t be destroyed easily. A version that can find a way to reach its destination irrespective of how difficult the path is.
You are the one who makes my world go round. In your darkness, I find the light of my soul. In your chaos, I find the content that eludes me otherwise. In your crumbling walls, I find hope for my atonement.
Run wild, I will follow you barefoot. Jump off the cliff, I will hold your hand until you hit the bottom and rise again. Spread your wings, I will take the flight with you.
If we fall, we will rise together. If we get hurt, we will heal together. If we get crushed, we will pull each other.
You, with your incompleteness, are my home and my final resting place.