If you're sad and you know it, clap your hands

You probably think we had no business changing what was written. It’s not our fault though, honest – we were abandoned. What were we supposed to do, scattered across this blank page, a chaotic array of floating words? Some of us were crooked, some illegible, some even violently slaughtered by angry slashes of graphite. We were scribbled across a flimsy sheet of paper, given a look of immense dissatisfaction, then cast aside amongst the piles of a messy desk. There was silence, at first, in this quiet world of black and white, but then we looked at each other – and the clamor began.

When I was alone,

I just needed some hope.

But now I know

giving up was easier.

I used to think

things have a way of working themselves out,

but soon I realized

my dream was just a dream.

I didn’t want to believe that

we don’t always get what we want,

but I know

everything fell apart

in the end.

It was written in bolded letters, etched with such force that we ripped the paper. There was fatigue and weariness amongst us all – we weren’t meant to carry the burden of such heavy misery. We are meant to inspire. Perhaps we could rearrange ourselves on this blank canvas, hold hands so that we form sentences, come together to rewrite the story that we didn’t want to be responsible for telling.

In the end,

everything fell apart.

But I know

we don’t always get what we want.

I didn’t want to believe that

my dream was just a dream,

but soon I realized

things have a way of working themselves out.

I used to think

giving up was easier,

but now I know

I just needed some hope

when I was alone.

The change was minor, but the effect was great. Maybe when our writer discovers us on her desk, she’ll realize that looking at life from a different angle is really all it takes to be happy.


(This is an old piece of writing, but I rediscovered it on my laptop today and wanted to share.)