“I’m scared sometimes that I’ll never find out. That I’ll always feel this gaping hole and never be able to fill it. And my only merit would be to have existed as long as I would have—a sort of congratulations on not dying. “
“I feel like the last of my species sometimes. Like a human-shaped dinosaur. ” she laughed grimly.
“As though I were existing by accident, as if I were a thing of the past already. An absurdity, an anachronism. Something someone would point to to say it did not belong. Or something to stick in an exhibit in a museum for people to ooh and aah at. Except that I would be an object with no discernible history. As if my history was buried with me, and it got left behind when I was unearthed, reborn into the world. I’m scared sometimes that I’ll never find out. That I’ll always feel this gaping hole and never be able to fill it. And my only merit would be to have existed as long as I would have—a sort of congratulations on not dying.
“No one understands, really. The only ones who can would be others like me. Other people from the past. Only they would understand the pain of a thousand years of living without remembering any of it. But I don’t fool myself into thinking they would be the answer. They might understand, but they have their own pains to tend to. Their own callings to answer to. No, what we need are people with a love of old things. People who do not mind if you are a bit broken, because they understand that it’s pretty amazing that you’re here at all.”
“So have faith in what you know: that the sky is blue, that Art is Art and that Beauty is Beauty.”
There is no shame in being beautiful in a way others do not understand. Do not hang your head because you are not what “Beauty” looks like.
Beauty can be foreign, strange or unconventional, sometimes all three at once.
Think of Art. There are endless types of Art, countless styles and movements and a horde of disciplines. There is Art that is conventional, Art that everybody will like, and then there is Art that people don’t know how to like, because they do not understand it. But it is still Art, and there will be people who understand. Or even others who want to understand it ,perhaps because and not in spite of its difference.
But there will also be those who disregard Art as not being Art. That is sad indeed for them, as they will live in a world with even less Art in it.
But their opinions do not move mountains. They cannot decide that the sky is not blue and suddenly it is not blue anymore. They have no power but that of persuasion. If they tell you the sky is red over and over, you might start believing them, you might start seeing that the sky is, in fact, a little red. So have faith in what you know: that the sky is blue, that Art is Art and that Beauty is Beauty.
It does not matter that you are music and she is painted art. It has no importance that you are realistic and he is abstract. Brush strokes or crayons, paper or clay, Minimalism or Surrealism. It does not matter.