Alone

My anger is a freshly manufactured, straight-out-of-the-plastic-packaging, rectangle of putty. Approximately 12x6x6". It is hard, not very malleable at all at this point. I would like for it to go away. I did not buy it. It was waiting for me when I got home one day. Now it is my problem. I could try to throw it away, but there would be another in its place tomorrow. It will not leave me, I must make it into something. It wants to become something. I do not know what. I will sit and look at it for a while. Who knows how long. If I don't see it for what it is, then I will never figure out what it wants to become. Eventually I will see something resembling the slightest hint of beauty in it. From that smallness, something great should emerge. I say should. It does not necessarily follow that it will for certain, but with the right shaping and vision, it should. Of course, I could wait until I find the slightest hint of ugly in it as well, and make my putty into something large and horrible. But then it might become evil and eat me if it gets wet.

Finding love is like fitting a key to a lock, albeit a very complex key. As one goes through life, they discover what kind of key fits into their lock. The bar is raised on certain aspects and lowered on others. With painstaking effort, and a great deal of time, some are able to spot the right key for their lock. Others just keep trying to jam it keys that don't fit. Some locks are weakened over time, and like a stripped screw, any key will fit, but they cannot turn the lock. Sometimes the key gets broken off in the lock. That's not necessarily good, even if its the right key. The key and the lock must each maintain their own functionality in order for both to remain happy over their lifetime.