What is it you think, that makes us cry?

I don't necessarily believe its pain. I haven't exactly decided exactly what it is yet, perhaps it doesn't really have to be anything at all.

But if not pain, then what?

I have recently come to find brokenness in a way as a beautiful thing.

I told you before how much of a cage this world is. But really if you look at the world outside of it, you realize there is no prison guard at the end of the line telling you can't get out.

There is no prison guard because there is no line, no end.

Outside of our world isn't a thousand names of constellations and stars.

Because really I don't think there is an outside to our world, but in someway there is.

Look up to the heavens in the night sky, don't think, don't speak, don't move, you'll dream. You'll see the outside, someway your mind will take you there.

Because I truly believe that the cars and the city's aren't it. There's life here, if you dare yourself to look close you'll see it.

You'll see what you've been seeing all along, except now your actually seeing it.

Your eyes can see what is there, but its your choice to choose to look or look away.

We usually choose look away without even realizing, I don't know why this is, but it is.

I think us humans only see the surface of things. The surface is at times is either too beautiful, or perhaps to hideous and sadly thats all we focus on.

We never choose to see the unseen.

There's a reason why its unseen, it isn't the surface. And our eyes see beyond the surface, but we're never interested.

I think we're wonderers.
Were all lost, well not all of us. Some of is have actually found our way. And others have looked, and although they think they've found what they are looking for, really they haven't. Most of us are lost, wonderers.

This isn't necessarily a bad thing. If you don't seek then you'll never find, if you've never found, you haven't lived.

Most of us haven't lived. Sadly humans get so swept up with trying to survive in this world that I times we forget to live, and by the time we finally remember its too late. We're already gone. We never found.

But in a way I don't think we are ever really gone. I think when we cross the finish line we don't break, I think we keep on driving until we find ourself in another race.

Grandpa died today.

It is why asked you the reason of why you think we cry. I still don't really now the answer, perhaps I never will.

But I do know that I wasn't sad. But everyone else was, their eyes red rimmed and bloodshot from endless tears. Their cheeks tainted red and raw.  I couldn't share the emotions they were feeling, that wasn't me.

I don't think am yet old enough to have known true despair. But I wasn't sad. About grandpa I mean, I wasn't sad about his death.

I hate that word, death. What a peculiar thing. 

His death was a strange to me. I think this was because death itself was a strange thing that was too often misunderstood.

I hadn't cried like everyone else did, I hadn't been sad. I had found myself feeling happy. I was aware that no longer will I see grandpa again, our cars wouldn't cross paths again because he had sadly already crossed his finish line. We were no longer in the same race.

I first I couldn't understand why I couldn't feel the same brokenness everybody else was feeling. I loved my grandfather, and I think everybody crying did too.

And if I had shed tears for Burt's death then why not for my grandfather? It wasn't because I loved one any less. But still I was confused.

It wasn't till I saw his body that was no longer warm and was slightly becoming pale that I figured it out. I think his limp body should have scared me, but really it didn't. It in a way it was beautiful, his hair still sparkled.

He had a small smile sewn on his face. It was a smile so slight and small that you'll have to really look to see it. But I saw it, I chose to see the unseen.

In his death he was smiling. I think the reason why I wasn't sad about grandpa dying is because he was happy, he had to be, you don't smile because your sad.

I didn't cry because I knew this. I think grandpa would have been more than happy to stay, but at the same time he was happy to go. 

I bet he crossed the finish line triumphantly yelling victory!!!!

He was happy with the life he had lived, I think this is because he had actually lived. I think that because he had been happy I was happy too.

The peculiar thing grandpa did was he didn't make death into a sad thing, this time I didn't cry at a funeral.

I have a theory, I think death is misunderstood.
Not always does it always have to be sad. Sometimes I think in a time of death we so quickly fall into grief that we too often forget to celebrate the fact that the person may have been happy.

I think we focus too much of the fact that we're in pain that we forget to look beyond that, we don't focus on how the person actually dead felt like.

I don't think it should matter how sad we are that they are gone, I think we should focus on how happy they were.

Death should only be sad, if the person dead was sad themselves.

Thats why I had cried at Burt's funeral, but not at grandpa's. Burt didn't die happy. That was what made his funeral sad and unbearable. I think the whole time I had been grieving that fact that he may have been sad, not the fact that he was dead.

I hope the both of them find themselves in another race, perhaps the same one. I hope Burt is happy when he crosses that finish line.

And I hope I am too.

I want to be smiling one day when they bury me six feet under. Just like grandpa had been.

R.I.P

Rest in peace.

Thing is I don't really think they rest, I think they just move on, to a place where they feel at peace.

A place that isn't here.
                           ~.~.~

There is an outside to our world, but even though there is an outside our world is still a cage.

I don't think it started out that way, I think that what we made it to be.

It was still a cage because most of us can't see the outside.

A prison can still be a prison even if there is an open door allowing you to the other side.

I saw the open door yesterday, I got out, but in a way I wasn't really out, just beyond.

I was laying there in the dry fall grass. I was laying on top of my fathers car. Really I was doing nothing, just staring.

I was staring into space, literally. The night sky was... extraordinary. For some odd reason the beauty of it fascinated me. It was almost like a magnet for my eyes, the heavens pulled me in and I simply couldn't just look away.

I didn't want to look away.

It beauty distracted me. Pulled me away from reality.

Reality and I weren't very good friends right now.

But then again, never do I recall being on good terms with it. I hated reality it was of something...disappointing, inevitable, agonizing.

And as of now it was confusing me.

You know that world I was telling you about? The one where I told you you could be king? The world that existed only in your head, the place where no one told you what to do but you?

The place where you were free, the place that wasn't reality but a different version if it. And because of this it really wasn't reality at all, there was nothing real about it.

Its just a temporary place you could escape to.

What made this reality so cherished by me was because of the fact that it wasn't a cage, and if somehow it was I didn't feel like a prisoner. And if I was somehow a prisoner it wouldn't matter, I don't think I'd mind, it was my world.

This wasn't my world, at least I didn't want it to be. And if there was any chance that it was my world I was such a tragedy to it. Someone like me saw things so peculiarly. Peculiar things that most of the time resulted in saddening me. At times I wondered if the things I saw were even there at all.

It'd be easier if was just all in my head. And maybe it was.

Was my mind really drifting after all?
Was I slowly losing my sanity?
I don't think I was born sane.

Or maybe perhaps the rest of you are the insane ones.

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to be insane.

Living without your sanity is easier than living with it.

You wouldn't even notice you were losing your mind. Wouldn't remember what a lethal thing this life really is and that you had been slowly losing yourself to routine.

To normalcy.

Or what was thought to be normal.

I've got a theory, I think insanity is freedom.

I don't think most people think of what they would be like if they were insane. I imagine I'd be free because I wouldn't be able to think straight.

I like the idea of losing myself. If I lose myself I won't exactly be me. Not being me sounds...intoxicating.

It sounds relieving.

I wish to be nobody at all. I just simply want to be without being.

I've found reality to be a ruthless killer, framed in false innocence. 

Your reality and I are young foes.

I say young because it seems we've just come to understand each other. I think we saw each other clearly, too clearly. And the both of is disliked what we saw.

I saw the insane like free birds.
There was just something about them, yes truly they were mad, but is madness really such a bad thing after all?

I speculate it isn't.

They don't live in reality. I mean they do, obviously. But at the same time they don't, they seem...distant. Away, not here.

It must have been easy for them, their minds were so far gone that I think someway they were gone too. Lost in a ray of infinite nothing.

But for some reason odd I dare to believe their not really lost at all. They seem somewhat at peace with the world, they seemed to have escaped the lethal water that slowly was pulling us all in. Perhaps they were so far gone that they were no longer woeful captives of this ordinary world of ours.

Or maybe they were but perchance they hardly cared at all. Or maybe they were too mad to realize that they were prisoners of a lethal reality.

The inevitable routine and blandness of our world was what made reality so toxic, dangerous, murderous.

Maybe insanity brought you defiance.

And maybe they really were prisoners just like the rest of us were, no more no less.

But I think they simply were at peace because they were rogue. I think they were disobedient.

They refused to obey the rules.

Refused to run in an unfruitful circle. Refused to be routine, ordinary, barren...normal.

They had no worries, they were the freaks.

But I'll tell you a secret, the freaks lived a life most of us didn't. They breath the same air as you do, live in the same world. Perhaps went to your same school and got lower grades than you.

There lack of ordinariness doesn't make them any less than the rest of you, in fact I think somehow it makes them...more.

More free, more insane, more alive...more.

This place, here was in need of a little more.

Driving your mind to insanity didn't sound unbearable, it sounded extraordinary. Thats what the freaks were, extraordinaire.

Being crazy didn't sound of something that was so bad, not at all. Because I've come to realize something I didn't know before.

The mad ones, the freaks were something I was not, happy...
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A/N

Thank you so much for reading, really it touches my heart and puts a smile on my face so thank you☺️☺️😍❤️👏🏾