i want to be the hero

I feel as if I've been dying. I have, I really have, been truly trying. 

But days seem to blend in together, and I feel suffocated. I feel as if it's time I'm buying.

The course of the sunset, for example, seems so beautiful to me. The pinks, oranges, and purples all blurring together at the seems. I can't help but to marvel. It's always been so beautiful to me.

That's just temporary though, isn't it? It all flows within the course of a few hours– and then it's gone. Doomed to repeat itself the next day, maybe, if the world seemed that it fit. That it would allow you such a gorgeous sunset the next day after its marvelous hit.

Just like the stars, too. One night they could shine such a vivid blue. An occulus of color and never receding from your view. However, the next night, they could be clouded over. And you'd be left wondering, waiting, curious of what's being hidden from you. 

It's funny, really, how life can be like this. Just like the sunsets, and just like the stars: forever hindering and questioning who you truly are. 

I believe that is the thing that gets to me the most– the longing of the beauty of it all. Wondering if it's truly worth it at the end of it all.

What I'm trying to confess, is that in an embarrassing admission of fault, is that I don't have any answers to this. I want them, though. I want to consume them. I want to be the beauty of the sunset, and of the stars. I want to be the reason people fall. Fall in love with life, and the meaning behind every single time you may bawl. It may hurt you then, not seeing things the way you want to; but it builds you, really, in a sort of endless haul. It's not just crying or despair. You can find happiness among the sadness, the art of life; and of appreciating the moments that are completely clear, colorful, and vivid to you– just moments you are undoubtedly there.

Life isn't as simple as that, though. Sometimes you're left being envisioned as the lack of color, the darkness of the night, the uncertainty of it, and the absolute villain of it all. Because no one is perfect, and everybody is bound to fall.

I wish that life was a series of absolutes. Of just knowing, just inherently knowing, you are beautiful. You are pure, and you are light. You are not darkness. You are sure, and you are true.

But no one is ever fully beautiful. We all have our faults, and our flaws. Somehow, though, the light and the dark mixes together to create a masterfully crafted art. One that boggles the mind. One that boggles the heart.

I guess I'm just wondering the meaning behind all of it. The meaning of everything. The meaning of it all.

Do they mean it when they say it?

"You either die a hero, or live to become a villain."

I just want to make an impact– even if my curiosity over death itself is ever so consuming. I want to feel like I've conquered the course genetically set by me. I want to feel as if I am always blooming. Always spreading, and always generously looming. 

I want to be the hero. 

I need to be the hero.

But I feel as if I've been dying. And, really, truly, I have been genuinely trying. 

It just all gets to me at once– the fear that I've been subconsciously subsiding. Maybe, forever unintentionally, lying. A girl living an impossible dream. A girl always, inevitably but failing, at trying.