There is this person I want to be. I can see her. But it isn’t just seeing her- I can smell her, I can hear her voice, I can feel the way she carries herself. I can imagine her sleeping, talking, putting on shoes, and making eggs. She is graceful, enchanting and alluring. The sun radiates off of her skin. She holds herself with such poise and confidence. Right now she is in another place. She sits in a grandiose apartment with plants filling the corners, books piled underneath. She sits at her desk, she elegantly writes in her journal with a ball point pen. She rights love notes to fictional characters and past historical figures. She cries in front of the window when it rains. She drinks heavily- with tolerance. The only way to her is by heavy iron gate- which is beautiful. When viewing it from the road, you can see the blended iron ropes forming a most mystical pattern. I’ve arrived several times at the gate in the dead of the night, tears running down my face, my heart brimming with hope, sometimes stumbling drunk. I’ve felt around for the key hole, which I’ve thought about trying to pick. I’ve never picked a lock before - successfully. No such key hole to be found. On several occasions, I’ve yelled at the gate, shook the gate, and thrown things at it. The gate is far too high to climb, but it hasn’t stopped me from trying. Once, after several attempts, I made it a few feet off the ground. A smile appeared on my face and the rain came followed by violent gusts of wind. I held on, the iron rope cutting into my hands. My muscles tightened and I hugged my body to the gate. After a few minutes, I tried to regain my position and I slipped. However, I can’t seem to shake the feeling that I was pulled. Once I was on the pavement cursing myself, the wind had stopped. The rain turned warm as it drizzled from the sky, and it comforted me as I wept. I heard a whisper coming from the shadows beyond the gate. I called after it. I got up after several moments of silence. I clutched the gate tightly, and pressed my forehead on the cool iron ropes. I stared into the darkness and asked who was there.
“It will open when you’re ready.” It said.
“But…What about the key?” I called out desperately, reaching into the darkness. After a few moments, I felt the presence leave. The rain finally stopped and the stars showed themselves. That moment of clarity was soothing for a while. I felt confident that I was closer to finding the key.
But, you see, I get sucked into these waves of high confidence, and then I fall backwards. I have fallen off the gate, again and again. Except, there isn’t always a voice in the darkness.
It leaves me flabbergasted every time someone posts an Onion article and thinks it’s legitimate news. What is better is when a friend of that someone also comments on said article because they also think its real. What is even better than that, is when you post one, knowing full well that it’s fake, and several people comment as if it’s real. How come everyone doesn’t understand this yet? It is the year 2014 and The Onion is not a news source.