Your Villianess

Jul. 21st, 2008 at 11:27 PM

I can't say why it is exactly that I should always end up the villain in this game of chance. Why it is that if I expect, or encourage, or refuse mediocrity it makes me hard. Should I be soft then? And let it all just waste away? Should I stand idly by and allow life to become a mockery of the lessons it teaches us? I suppose it's better not to learn these lessons, but to keep making them repeatedly, endlessly suffering when a little change would have done a great deal of good. How quaint, how curious that soon the best of all champions turns into the chorus of disapproval. I suppose it would be safer to be nice for nice's sake and not invite their scrutiny. But the bottom line is, I am not seeking their approval, and their opinion really matters little to me in the grand scheme of things. Especially those who have enabled, who have sheltered and coddled these elements to come to their full fruit, who would threaten to tempt it further. They may be content with complacency, with shows of little effort and ill gains, of backslide that threatens foundation, much the same way mudslides threaten hillside homes. But I have seen too much to play the dumb ignorant. And I have seen too much in you not to be hard. I have seen to much in you than to give over to soft and let you slide away, all my treasures and hopes sliding with you into canyons below to always be lost. So let it be said that I was in fact, "too hard." Let it be said that I wasn't ever satisfied when there wasn't active improvement on some front. Let it be said that I was "no good for you." I'll play out my checkmate and see what the presence of that voice, that demanding voice, always encouraging you to reach your best and then surpass it will end up at. We'll see whether it was too hard when it's no longer sounding in your ears, and you're left with a chorus of soft flutes unable to carry your tune. I know the best course of action has been run as far as I can run it. I know there are only two paths open to me now. I can move forward and see if that is the direction you will take yourself. Or I can stay frozen, waiting for baby birds to fly from nests that are sheltered in heights they are afraid of. Heights that on some level, some would be content to keep them in forever. I am taking flight sweet bird, I won't call your doorstep my birdhouse for much longer. I needed a safe place to mend my own broken wings, to recalculate what I had lost, and learned in my fall. And you provided me that, for that I thank you. You gave me reason to believe in the sweet but fierce swallow that flies over my heart again, and for that I thank you. You gave me inspiration, and guidance, and conspired to ignite within me all things that will lead to my greatness manifest. You restored my judgment, my insight, my perseverance, and above all: my Faith. You gave me your heart and with it, I gave you mine; the most precious gift of all I will treasure, regardless of what time deals us hence. Cherish you, adore you, and push you I must. I don't know any other way to be, especially with something so gorgeous as yourself. Ask a jeweler why they use the tools they do to cut diamonds. It may seem like a cruel trick of fate that to make the rare stone sparkle unabashedly they should have to cut it apart. But even the jeweler will tell you, of tougher stuff, there is nothing more precious, rare, and beautiful made. An honor then, it must be to them to cut away the imperfections, to smooth down the rough hewn edges, revealing only the most excellent specimen was hidden in something that once appeared ordinary, crude, or even like it should have been left as it was at the hands of others. But the wild winds of change are calling to me, and the wings of destiny flap violently in my ears. I believe that now, there is no going back, and there is only this wall of wind to sail on in front of me. I will take that leap into the wind sweet bird and fly higher now than I ever did before because of you. But, will you follow? Or will you stay where I have found you, perched in your nest even as winter threatens to freeze your claws to the place you once called safe, a place you once called home? A place where there is no wind, and only perilous heights for flightless birds. Perhaps I am too hard then, so let me be your eagle, and you ever my swallow. I would have liked to fly these soaring winds with you at my side, but hen pecks from clever birds who would "know better" have driven me the last time from your nest. I am away with the whirlwinds sweet bird. I pray I'll hear your sweet song again, never dampened by a deafening chorus of placation. Your finest arias I will strain to hear as I build a new nest somewhere obscenely high, on the free born wind, some vista that will show you endless beauty, somewhere hard and marvelous. I will build that nest large and hope for your return, hope that you will have learned enough to follow where your destiny might lead you, away from the safety of softness and home to the arms of tender hard wrought admiration.

Music:For Good - Wicked