It's just, sometimes people are filled with such kindness, such generosity, that I can't help it and I get overcome by this feeling of love, and goodwill, and compassion and all that hokey Hallmark stuff, and I want to reach out and touch the wind and kiss people on the forehead and stroke their hair and smile and say, "You know, it's all going to be allright, because look at that sun. It's only peeking out a little, but it's still there. Smell the air, the burning leaves, see the grass that's still on the ground - no matter how bad things are, that's where hope is." They say the devil is the details, but I think god is, too. Gods, or god, or whatever omniscient presence you happen to believe in (or not believe in).
People try. People try, and sometimes they fail, but mainly - people *try*, and that's what makes me hope. That's what fills me up so much sometimes I can't take it, and there's a giddiness, an effervescence, that bubbles up, through me. I feel like a human coca cola, or sprite, or something, and laughter is inevitable.
Love is a choice, I was told once. You make the choice when you wake up in the morning to love, or to isolate yourself, to go through the day as an untouchable entity, and you go to bed tired, and weary. There is no reason for that, even if you wake up and feel like the ceiling above you is too close.
But enough of my proslethizing. It might be cold outside, but you guys -- really. Just look at the sky.
