Sometimes, you think that opposites aren't meant to attract. There's heaven and Hell. Despair and hope. Black and white. Fancy and plain. Old and new, Any person would say they clash. They don't fit together, like two siblings bickering over a rivalry. One believes one things. The other disagrees. But then, why do we enjoy sweet and out chicken? The aesthetic orange sunset against the fading blue sky? The one accentuated piece of something eccentric, something standing out? Why do we like our lines so clearly defined, but then smoothed together into a blur? Even in this way, we form contradictions that seamlessly bind together. It doesn't always seem to be, but it is. The antithesis of our world still lives on.
Sometimes, it's all in such a big breath, something so powerful, glorious, and expansive, but all the while invisible to the human eye, such as the death and life that surrounds us, fragile and beautiful but feathery, like an unforeseen whisper caressed between the lips of mother and child, a breath so loving, so delicate, yet the breath still holds power that was thought to only be in legends that could move mountains and hold up the sky, for the boy shall be the one who lives on and grows strong as the mother withers to slowly be laid in a grave, and the boy will realize the true power of the words that he heard while he was only a young child, and cry as his heart and soul realize the love that his mother bestowed on him, and he would regret that he ever yelled, argued, complained, or fought his mother, the mother that he always did love, and hate himself for all the pain that he made her go through, and finally to let go of all of his bated breath in silence.
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