My Enthusiast

Enthusiasm is a sharp blade in our toolbox of genuine stories. The box embroidered with desire and filled with emotions you learned before thinking to raise your right hand and give your answer an honest try. A want to be willing to be worth it. That’s what enthusiasm brings. A hammering heart next to the beating one you have no control over. It beats the blood upward like piano keys hammering your brain to make a decision for your body to act upon. A decision that breaks mantic-metallic peace and concrete brick chaos into two opaque pieces and welds a glass mirror of love in between to remind you that the happiest time of life prescribed to you was when you saw your reflection and could see through any circumstance clearly. We call ourselves blacksmiths. Take bits and pieces of moments and memories lay them across the old wooden table and try to piece together a sword shiny enough to smile at your problems in the steel. But there is sword so spotless No, there is no sword strong enough to keep the table from splintering your fingers. Foundation is everything. A deaf man screaming at a blind girl’s watch dog to direct her out of green light traffic will do nothing more but make the mutt angry and he will bite at your hand for feeding his master murderous mumbles. If there is one thing that my life stories have taught me it’s that you can’t wield an excalibur of peace with a wood-splintered vision of the future And that you can be the cause of chaos if no one understands what you’re saying. ‘Grabbing for breath has now broken my fingers.’ No matter what your intentions are actions will always speak louder than traffic-signal speech. So forge enthusiasm inside of a burning desire to love other people without being so judgmental. The toolbox of genuine, embroidered with desire grins at me every time I see my reflection and see you standing by my side. My enthusiast.