A Loveletter, a Manifesto, a Hymn for November

I am often accused of the crime of having my head in the clouds, of being swept away by a world of senseless idealism and infantile dreams. I'm often told that I "just don't get the real world." But I do get it. I understand completely that we live in a world that demands we sacrifice our precious time for safety, for shelter, for the luxuries of food and clothing. I am fully aware that we live in a world that tries to convince us that we are only capable of small feats, that we are bound by unspoken laws that dictate how we should feel, when we should dance, the volume of our laughter.

I am not blind to the pain in our small and beautiful corner of the universe. I am not stupid enough to believe that the whole world is just a merry-go-round of roses and giggles. We have genocide, we have famine, we have disease, we have bigotry and hatred.

But I am not so weak, so dejected, to believe that the world is merely a series of cogs and wheels bound up in pain and grey. I am not so foolish as to believe that monotony, prejudice, and fear is all this world has to offer.

I see the world, with its scars and blisters and cracking paint, and absolutely refuse to let go of my love and wonder for that very world. I understand the argument for apathy, for nihilism, for hopelessness, but I cannot, and will not, side with that argument.

How can you deny beauty when you've felt an ocean against your skin, or seen the birth of the universe reflected in the glowing algea under a fishing pier on a cloudy night in July? How is it possible to harden your heart to the world when you've danced senselessly with someone you love in a cold living room in February, figuring a bottle of cheap wine and a good album is a mighty fine way to keep yourself warm when your heat's been shut off? How can one not be humbled by the magnitude of color and shadow connecting in perfect harmony on the canvas of a lover's skin, or that unsent letter you forgot you wrote tucked snug in a book you thought you lost?

To reject that beauty, in lieu of living a life of bitterness and disgust, is the only true blasphemy. To be a part of this world, and refuse to acknowledge its heartbreaking grace, even if only in small moments (especially in small moments), is the only sin I care to give a name.