As a person, I can tell you there is nothing more annoying than recurrence. There is no escaping it. The bold topic of recurrence includes several subtopics and other details. That's why, when something so unexpectedly pops up, no one is prepared for it. It hits you right in the face. Then, what do you do? You adjust to it. There is nothing worse than adding unexpected things to a daily routine of normalcy. The unexpected things become everyday objects. We're back at stage 1. Recurrence.
I am a victim of this, as many others. My routines are of the same order and in the same style and format. There is nothing exhilarating or adrenaline-excelling about my life. It is laid out in front of me, but on repeat, like my Spotify music playlist. If I see something out of place, I might just ignore it. I might stress out. Then what do I add to my routine? Stress becomes less surprising, and well known among myself.
People who are extraordinary are the ones who are those that stop the recurrence in human lives, simply because they're there and they're unmistakably different than everyone else. And while different is weird, different is different, and that's what's beautiful about it.
However, if a person is extraordinary to someone, they might not be to someone else. There isn't just one person wired up to the whole system. There are many. I have been told I was different to someone else, and it has confused me, because while there is nothing intriguing about me, I am different to a different type of person.
In all confusion, I'm not completely sure about the method of my teachings; I only know one thing for sure. The reason I rattle on about the subject is because of a girl, one that was the least recurring person in life if there ever was one. She was smart, incredibly so. Talented, but in unusual ways. But her way through people was words. Her words were pure poetry in themselves, from the countless books and shows she quoted to the advice she gave, and even more so the eccentric ideas she developed in her stories.
You would never guess such an extraordinary girl would have such a basic name, but it was the most basic of basic of names. Hannah Alexander, the girl who's words pointed out my very indifference and shaped my future in ways I couldn't do alone.
But, as it goes, there can't be a shining bright star on the earth that is always there, because they are the first ones to go out. It's a matter of becoming a recurrence or simply death, and I don't need to imply what became of Hannah. Beautiful things are always destroyed. There is no sometimes. No percent chance.
And though we wish for the star that can make us bright again, we make mistakes in doing so. You bring a star to earth, and it can't get what it needs to survive. You kill them and yourself. Don't wish for someone to make your life greater. In the end, it will only turn out worse.
This is why we settle for the in-between. The brilliant but ugly, the fake but physically attractive. We settle for less than the best, because there are very few who are the best. And even then, there is always another add-in.
The beautiful but ill.
But I do not forget Hannah, nor should I, because a brilliant mind like hers is a story worth telling.
Her head is the one story you read that shifts your ideas, the one you constantly quote and constantly feel something towards. And her story deserves to be told.
I can think of no one else to tell her story than someone closest to her, whom she shared her thoughts and ideas with, from the very first day we met, the sticky notes, the ancient collectibles, and the stories that may be stretched slightly or may be completely unrealistic and untrue, but would best be described as a fable for the real idea. Lessons spoken through painted visions, writings, and stories.