What is your story?
Not the story that you share with acquaintances whom you haven’t seen in a while; practiced lines exchanged like trading cards in the school yard. Simple, yet interesting; exciting, but safe. Not the story that you have built up in order to please your family, to pacify your coworkers or to reassure your friends. Not the story that you tell yourself as you push forward, image built up, smile bright, head high, ready and waiting for the world to see you shine. Not those stories. Those are the pictures that you hang on your walls, the paintings on display for all to see. Beauty, creativity, dedication and talent; your presentations and offerings to the world.
No, I want to know the story of your soul. The story of who you are; the brushstrokes upon your canvas. I can see who you are now, but I want to know how you became this way. I want to understand what can’t possibly make any sense when you put it into words, but I want you to say it anyway. I want to know you in that messy, beautiful way that is raw and uncensored. I want to see you, but not just with my eyes, and hear you, but not only with my ears. I want to figure out how you work until you no longer need to explain it. That is when I will finally know you, and that is how I want you to know me, too.
This is what I want to say to people, but can’t, or won’t, because this kind of intensity is frowned upon. It’s outside of our comfort zone, as it leaves us vulnerable and exposed. It’s what I need though in order truly know you, and to feel comfortable with you. It’s a compliment of sorts, for if you are someone I like, then I want to know you as well as you know yourself. A dazzlingly disheveled kind of friendship; a breath of honesty, a sigh of relief.