When an artist paints the whole world shuts down, no background noise, no nothing, just the artist and its canvas. When a singer hums, it’s much more raw than when she’s in front of a crowd. The tune is nude, with the singer’s heart beat as the instrument that leads it. When a poet writes, the world doesn’t shut down, but it comes alive. All the objects around him move with every stroke of his pen. When a rock star is alone, with his guitar, even indoors he feels the breeze with every string he strums.
When an explorer discovers new land, no feast can ever express the greatness he feels about himself. When a general wins a war, not even the grandest parade can beat the feeling of home. That is why soldiers search for a wife, a lover, a family, something to look forward to when they come home. Something or someone to come home to.
But for some, solitude is what they seek. And the world does not understand, so it tends to destroy the spirit of such a warrior. Someone different, is just abnormal and yet, when we look around nobody really is alike in the world. The world would never permit happiness upon those who go against the tide, reminders are plastered all over the walls, magazines and even on the lips of those for the world.
There is no telling when it all ends, but I for one would want to come home and tell a great story of my life, rather than, tell a story that is somewhat similar to everyone elses.