I can’t seem to gather myself quite well. The words aren’t spilling themselves out from the tip of my fingers like always. I am not inspired. There’s nothing to inspire about. There’s nothing more to life that what it is right now. Yes, at this point, people would say how depressing it is. But, on the contrary, I’m quite content at the moment, which is, ironically, killing me. As much as I want smooth sailing, there is still much left to be done. I cannot wait for that peaceful calm to wash over me like a sunset scattering its orange glow throughout the sky. However, that peaceful feeling is what scares me most. It’s as if I am about to anticipate the worst that is to come. I always believe that after happiness there is the opposite, sadness or disappointment. It’s the yin and yang of emotions. I am always searching for that center. That balance between the light and the dark. The thin line between peace and chaos. Now, that’s perfection. In that place, I feel like I’m in total control of the world. Of myself. There is nothing to fear but my own self.
The question is how to get there. To that everlasting state of perfection. For me, perfection equates death. So, how do get life from perfection when it is the ultimate state of contentment and happiness. There is nothing to live for. There is nothing to fight for. Striving for perfection is a constant struggle to commit suicide. What happens when you’ve reached perfection? Nothing. The only plausible thing that can occur is that when you reach your level’s perfection, you reach a whole new plane in life. Meaning, you shed your old skin and face the world anew and vulnerable. You start fresh at a new stage in life. You give perfection a different meaning, which creates the paradox of striving for perfection.
There is no such thing as perfection in life. Only in death will you attain ultimate perfection.