Perhaps

A journal entry I felt had merit and worth publishing. I could be wrong. I have been before.

          Oh humans how disgraceful. I wonder how the world looks through the eyes of an optimist. What things am I blind to, or perhaps what things are they blind to. Maybe they see the world in different colors, shapes, sounds, and flavors. Maybe it is just more appealing, or maybe they just tell themselves it is. Maybe they lie to themselves so much it soon blends from lies to truth all their lies ripen to the fruition of a new reality. Or perhaps I have been lying for so long that all I see is filth. Though that is not entirely true. I have seen many beautiful wonders of the world, some I have only seen in small glimpses, and others I have studied for hours on end. As I am sure there are millions that elude me. Yet when put to scales in my mind the filth sinks deep. In many ways I have conceded that my mind has unfairly skewed them in weight. For if you were to take the filth of humans (or even just a small part of it) about the size of a single die, it would compare in weight to all the water as it reflects the brilliant purples, blues, reds, and oranges of the sun dipping beneath the Pacific to rest. For even the sun grows tired of watching us. Just as the moon only completely faces us once a month. There is much cruelty, and hatred, and anger, and malice. As it resides within all. Where all the qualities to be cherished are light as feathers, often adrift along the wind hardly minded or remembered yet always desired when the rain begins to fall and there is nothing to keep it beading, beading, and beading down your back. But perhaps I am temporarily blinded, and for the time being the rain falls in heavy sheets. Perhaps they will slip from their pins and fall from the line to open the horizon as the clouds recede and the sun rises. Perhaps. Perhaps not.