My strain is one of the wild daisies

I am a pessimistic in the eyes of those who know my view on all matters of life. It’s true I am! What I can’t fathom about myself is my strong attachment to hope; I hold on to hope as it slips with the very tips of my fingers as if I was hanging from the cliff of Ronda of Spain that as much as I enjoy the view I am not very keen on letting go. This kind of attachment shouldn’t be naturally attributed within a pessimistic person. So what am I? Am I a hopeful pessimistic? Or am I an optimistic in disguise?

I don’t think there should be a single definition of pessimism, in fact it should be sub-defined into structured pessimism and pure pessimism.

Pure pessimism is where sadness and disappointment over wins the soul in whole. Which makes the body follows and stop moving for anything and for anyone and when I say the body I include the heart and lungs too, where your whole chest feels empty and heavy at the same time.

Structured pessimism is all what said about the pure one but applies to those who have learned to live with a soul over won by sadness. Those who adapted to moving with heavy yet empty chest, who sufficed to breathing shallow and to hearts beating too much and too rapidly for their own capacity. Those who are content to laughing partially and to enjoying only to their extent.

Only so they can still cling to hope, because on the contrary to what they lost, hope is the only entity still not over won; a seed that spread too much into soil it can never be fully cut out.

A pessimistic person who has structured his sadness is one who builds a virtue out of a sin but can’t tell the difference.

One who enjoys the drop of rain and the sting of the sun just the same but still thinks the sun is only there because of the rain not the opposite.

A one who never fails to remind oneself that battles of self are fought alone. Battles of self are won alone. Battles of self are in fact self-created and self-realized and so no one and nothing can interfere and nothing can be done but to hope and build a rose out of the little wet soil at the side of the road nurtured by the tears of sky and hoped by the sun that dry.

A structured pessimist is one of the strain of the wild daisies. In the eyes of that pessimist is not so strange that spring comes after winter and is not strange that he enjoys both just the same.

Only those who enjoys the rain can see the beauty of a wild rose at the side of the road.

so what am i? i am a structured pessimist.

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The girl with no footsteps 

​Today i would like to write about my pink pin, and the fine line drawn by it’s 0.4 mm tip, it’s a radiant pastel pink – just like me that combination is hard to believe it could exist in one. the tip pigments the paper so smoothly as the round tip flows over the white paper extracting it’s motion from my fingers. i hate my fingers they are and unlike my body so thin and slender, skin is so transparent that you can easily count the veins on them – that’s not so bad really people showed admiration of that transparency and of My personality quite the same, a transparent one that draws admiration but hardly left in peace – I’m neither frightened nor okay with the situations i find my personality simultaneously creating for me as i live day by day – I’m in transcendent realm of thoughts – i haven’t been before, i don’t know which is which, what is bad n what is good, what is a rational human behavior and what’s query.

As i lay my head on the table, the pink strokes came into focus and and at the end of the line what i know is that i am a delicate soul. A fragile leaf drifting where ever the winds may take. A lone survivor of my own ship reck and i have lived to tell the tale. The tale of a girl with no footsteps.

I used to write with black pens only then i discovered colors. And then i hated colors  because they were too over rated so i got back to using only black pens and once in a while i pick up this pink one and it is not so over rated in fact it brings uniqueness, new vision and contrast to the black. This is in the same way how the stars only shines it’s uniqueness fully when the sky is
 deep in black. When there is no lights on the streets but the stars. Have you ever seen the stars on a black out night? No need for the words of a poet for the stars become the peot and the poem. simply breathtaking. Like the pink and black and like the stars on a black out night. We need something or someone of our own to contrast our uniqueness and overcast our flaws. And that can only be designed for us it could be derived from within us or from the world but it has to be for the individual for the sole and true person we are. Otherwise we will live delusional and misguided.