People are really the most frustratingly fascinating creatures. They can be maddening but also absolutely breathtaking sometimes and I, I have no clue what to do about that.
I know people who can be magnetic. People who command attention when they speak, as if the same words that I can say find power only in them. They have interesting things to say, sometimes. It’s more of how they say it. Their ease in conversation attracts people. It makes them feel comfortable. I am drawn to such people.
I know people who can be caring. People who could look like jerks turn out to be some of the nicest people I know. They’ve genuine hearts, ones that put others before themselves because they truly do love the people they surround themselves with. Their smiles are full of understanding, eyes of the kind that see too much pain they cannot help. I am drawn to such people.
I know people who can be stubborn. People with the attitudes of celebrities who are allowed such position due to wealth and influence, things the people I know do not have. But they treat life with nonchalance. Quick to love, quick to forget. I am drawn to such people.
I know of people who can be interesting. People who don’t have any sort of redeeming quality save for the astuteness of their mind. Their answers hold much depth in them and behind their lack-luster exterior they spin threads of thought too tangled for passers by to accept. I am drawn to such people.
I also do not like all of them.
The people who command attention can be needy when they have none; people who are caring sometimes forget boundaries but will mind if you overstep theirs; people who are stubborn – their eyes are hard, the glint of steel in their hearts can clearly be seen when their gears scratch and grind against those of others; people who are interesting can be a pain to interact with because they never lose the faraway look in their eyes.
But tell me, isn’t everyone all of those things?
You can be magnetic to the right people. The way your eyes glow and your mouth is set in a half smile every time you talk about something you love – it’s irresistible.
You can be caring. Every time you see your friend cry or hurt, you hurt too. Your heart aches for them and you wish you could help. You try in your own way, and sometimes they notice and thank you. You love when they notice.
You can be stubborn. When you refuse to see someone else’s view although they’ve tried every way they know to get you to understand. You’re sure you know what’s best.
You can be interesting. So interesting. There are forests growing inside you that are too vast to understand and sometimes too much to venture into and make sense of.
People fascinate me to no end, the way they can move between the thin lines of good and bad.
You see, we aren’t static beings. We mould and shape ourselves like plastic being heated under a flame as time goes on. We are imprinted on; sometimes the contours we do not like are there because we let someone help. Sometimes we are the way we are today, beautiful in our own right, because we let someone help. These someones may not good, not bad, just not right for us at the time. Or perhaps they were almost perfect.
This fluidity of good and bad, of whole and broken – there is much still for me to understand, much to be observed, much to be learnt.
I take what I find, what I’ve searched for in other people, and turn it into poetry. It is the only place I can immortalise them. My poems are littered with chance references of people I know mixed with people I don’t. Sometimes I find people I could write so much poetry about. I do not. I cannot. I will not let myself be confined to the outlines of one muse. So I write about all of them.
One day I should like to remember the people I used to know from their trails in my poetry. On that day I might hope that they remember me. On that day, I’ll hope they remember their stories too. That’s really what it boils down to. What you know of people are their stories. They know only your stories too.
People are stories. Stories are people. Perhaps in this universe stories would exist without people to pen them down. But really, sometimes the fun of stories is all in the telling.
I should give credit where credit is due. This post was inspired by some people I know. They are all amazing and they have no clue how much I enjoy their company. Perhaps I’ll find the courage to tell them one day.