Keep the Faith
Keep Their Faith.
All alone, I never was.
I am not even a person known to be special or anyone different, for that matter.
It was just to prove heroism was not even the best thing for me.
It proved being sober had no reward.
And I'm fine with that.
It just also got the solemn side of me knowing that...
Even if I were sober, I could not even save lives no matter how hard I try.
Dear G,
Wings are not at all the reason why the angels come from the cathedral's apse. They are not even the true introspection of an angel. Those celestial embodiments come from what is carved in their illuminating hearts. And heroes don't need capes and arsenals to be true.
I saw you up there on that stage last night. You seemed so confident, but in your eyes, I found sadness. I found the weary eyes of a hero crying for the broken, the beaten and the damned. You just wanted to save lives, and the best they could offer was a crying saint.
"You know I wanted to save lives?"
"Like we care!
"Where's your wife? I'd like to throw a fit at her to begin with!"
"What makes you think you're a hero?"
Of course, no true hero would never cry like that to his beloved children. A hero masked by falsification and prevaricating the illusion of protangony would not even weep for them. He would seek revenge, and unmask the real villain inside, out to kill, proud to see them bleeding.
But in you, I saw love. Love to your battlefield, fighting as a savior to avert the roulettes and bullets aiming to your army. You see bloodshed, and their pallid, sullen faces marred by the despicable atrocities and adversaries which now disown their carcasses in being your faithful admirers.
"I'm not a hero."
"What makes you say that?"
"I never was. My heart can't take them. They just want fear. Agony. I can't take it..."
"You don't need to take them down. You just need me."
Protagony is more than a bovine heart of flesh bounded by lissome velveteen threads crushed by the pounding projections of a welder. They may diminish you, even unravel all your thread... But they can dig out trousseau from your silver and copper ornaments and rid of your sanguine side.
They want to find blood from your eyes before they could surrender. But even the heartaches coalescing through you will never stop them. Amunition of red pigment will never touch their hearts. Crying will never even tell them off. A vignette suppressing your love toward them did not even rust their steel hearts one bit.
"Weren't you one of those who wanted to annihilate me?"
"I can't anymore."
He tried to stifle his tears as she spoke. She never wanted to hurt him. She loved him.
But has it ever occurred to you they're doing that because they love you?
Yes. Love makes people do the most opaque things any commendable person even of the unworthy bone would possibly enact to prove themselves. They may say, "You are different," "You are not a hero at all," "You are not even trustworthy." But they only love you. They say these things to show how they feel.
They are not ill-minded. They know you have feelings. They know you are vulnerable to them. They know inside that labyrinth of a heart is more than a kaliedoscope of flesh, bloodlust, veins, coronary wounds, and oxygen. But of course, they love you that much to prove you wrong that they never did.
That's why they're against you.
Your pulse...tight against your galvanized metacarpals...breathing...
They feel you inside. They love you so much, they know your weaknesses.
One of them loves you for allowing her to rip you apart, and you promised her you wouldn't feel a damn thing. You promised all that, and you kept it. After a while, she found herself to be wrong.
She never had to prove she loved you by tearing you to pieces.
She just had to brace the fact that she needed to forgive him.
And she did.
All you have to do is forgive. They still love you, Gee. I know a thousand people who are doing this for you. They'll never let you down. They're forever there for you, Gerard.
XOXO
a.
P.S: I forgive you, Gee. I'm also sorry.
All that girl said just made me smile. She helped me find my own limelight inside. All I ever needed was to see it, after all. Yeah, being a hero is not crazy or anything.
It's just...
It's not easy to be me.
P.P.S: Have you ever heard of Keep The Faith?
I am not even a person known to be special or anyone different, for that matter.
It was just to prove heroism was not even the best thing for me.
It proved being sober had no reward.
And I'm fine with that.
It just also got the solemn side of me knowing that...
Even if I were sober, I could not even save lives no matter how hard I try.
Dear G,
Wings are not at all the reason why the angels come from the cathedral's apse. They are not even the true introspection of an angel. Those celestial embodiments come from what is carved in their illuminating hearts. And heroes don't need capes and arsenals to be true.
I saw you up there on that stage last night. You seemed so confident, but in your eyes, I found sadness. I found the weary eyes of a hero crying for the broken, the beaten and the damned. You just wanted to save lives, and the best they could offer was a crying saint.
"You know I wanted to save lives?"
"Like we care!
"Where's your wife? I'd like to throw a fit at her to begin with!"
"What makes you think you're a hero?"
Of course, no true hero would never cry like that to his beloved children. A hero masked by falsification and prevaricating the illusion of protangony would not even weep for them. He would seek revenge, and unmask the real villain inside, out to kill, proud to see them bleeding.
But in you, I saw love. Love to your battlefield, fighting as a savior to avert the roulettes and bullets aiming to your army. You see bloodshed, and their pallid, sullen faces marred by the despicable atrocities and adversaries which now disown their carcasses in being your faithful admirers.
"I'm not a hero."
"What makes you say that?"
"I never was. My heart can't take them. They just want fear. Agony. I can't take it..."
"You don't need to take them down. You just need me."
Protagony is more than a bovine heart of flesh bounded by lissome velveteen threads crushed by the pounding projections of a welder. They may diminish you, even unravel all your thread... But they can dig out trousseau from your silver and copper ornaments and rid of your sanguine side.
They want to find blood from your eyes before they could surrender. But even the heartaches coalescing through you will never stop them. Amunition of red pigment will never touch their hearts. Crying will never even tell them off. A vignette suppressing your love toward them did not even rust their steel hearts one bit.
"Weren't you one of those who wanted to annihilate me?"
"I can't anymore."
He tried to stifle his tears as she spoke. She never wanted to hurt him. She loved him.
But has it ever occurred to you they're doing that because they love you?
Yes. Love makes people do the most opaque things any commendable person even of the unworthy bone would possibly enact to prove themselves. They may say, "You are different," "You are not a hero at all," "You are not even trustworthy." But they only love you. They say these things to show how they feel.
They are not ill-minded. They know you have feelings. They know you are vulnerable to them. They know inside that labyrinth of a heart is more than a kaliedoscope of flesh, bloodlust, veins, coronary wounds, and oxygen. But of course, they love you that much to prove you wrong that they never did.
That's why they're against you.
Your pulse...tight against your galvanized metacarpals...breathing...
They feel you inside. They love you so much, they know your weaknesses.
One of them loves you for allowing her to rip you apart, and you promised her you wouldn't feel a damn thing. You promised all that, and you kept it. After a while, she found herself to be wrong.
She never had to prove she loved you by tearing you to pieces.
She just had to brace the fact that she needed to forgive him.
And she did.
All you have to do is forgive. They still love you, Gee. I know a thousand people who are doing this for you. They'll never let you down. They're forever there for you, Gerard.
XOXO
a.
P.S: I forgive you, Gee. I'm also sorry.
All that girl said just made me smile. She helped me find my own limelight inside. All I ever needed was to see it, after all. Yeah, being a hero is not crazy or anything.
It's just...
It's not easy to be me.
P.P.S: Have you ever heard of Keep The Faith?