(1) I live with chronic pain.

Most people who know me know, they just... forget. I don't look in pain, not usually. It's like a secret because I'm very hesitant to complain.

There she goes again. Rolls eyes. (It's never happened, but it could.)

(2) I live with chronic pain.

My brain uses a whole lot of brain power in managing it, to the point that sometimes, even I don't know. I just feel so tired and done, there's that familiar dull aching, if I close my eyes and check in I can feel it. (So I don't.)

(3) I live with chronic pain.

And when I'll tell you, it'll be a whisper at the pew, shameful.

Or it'll be the tag alon fun fact to a smile, a hurried dismissed explanation.

(A secret: a truth I don't actually want you to believe.)

When the man I love held my hand in a gesture that I knew so intrisically and loved so fiercely that its mere memory has brought me to tears... When he sat down opposite of me and told me he had something to say, I knew he wanted to break up with me. In the end, I knew him better than anyone, even for when it came to this.

I felt the walls around my heart closing, ready to defend from the uncoming assault, because I knew what was going to happen as well as I knew my name. I just didnt know why?

When the man I love entered my room with his shoulders bowed and hugged me harder than he ever had, ran his hands through the side of my face with the fervor of a castaway meeting the shore once more... I knew there was a problem bigger than we'd ever face before.

I was ready. For what? I'm not sure, but ready I was. I'd be as fast to apologize as I'd be to forgive, because I loved him. I loved him and I had long ago decided he'd be it for me.

But, when the man I loved told me he loved me with all his heart, that I was the best thing that ever happened to him, that he wanted to keep me in his life but that he just wasn't in love with me... I realized that I had no apologies to give. And, I also had nothing to forgive.

I was sucker-punched by life, by him; the only person I thought would never hurt me like this.

It felt like he died.

He was standing right there, and yet it felt like he was a million miles away. I could feel his fingers interwined with mine, feel the warmth that made me fall in love with him in the first place all that time ago but it felt like my hand wasn't mine. It belonged to someone else, someone who had all the things I had lost.

When we spoke, it was akward and stilted. There was nothing else to be said, but somehow, the space between us felt empty. Somehow, there was something clawing at my throat to GET OUT. Maybe it was tears.

He died.

The man who could make me feel like the only person in the room. The man who taught me how to love, in every sense of the word. The man who I had dreamed of a future with. The man who had been my confidant and my greatest friend. The man who owned my comfortable silences and my tears of joy.

With only one sentence, he was gone.

If you had asked me to describe him before, I wouldn't have called him an angel, not by a long shot. He had a mean streak a mile wide, a humour dark enough to merit a place in hell and sarcasm came out of his mouth at least thrice as much as "I love you" did. But he had been mine and I love him.

When someone dies, people will say that they become angels that watch over you... I'm not sure if I belive that.

I do know angel is someone who leaves you behind. Someone you can't see anymore. Someone you can't talk to, not in the way you did before. Someone's whose going to have to miss all the things you wanted to share with them of your life. Someone who moves on to better things. Someone's whose purpose at your side has ended.

The man I love has become an angel; I just need to let my memories of us die along with him, so that they may all be buried so that I may keep the essence of what he once was and hopefully forget the ending, what he became:

A stranger in his death.

When you're scared, you hide.

When you're in pain, you lie.

Talk to me.

Life knows,

there's no love without trust

and you don't trust enough

to let me love you.

The tragedy in my heart,

is having so much love to give

and feeling

like you don't want it

I thought that maybe people considered themselves above-average because they couldn't quite grasp the concept of above-average. But maybe, the issue relies in that people do not grasp what average means. The word in itself has unknowingly cultivated a shroud of hopelessness around it. "Just one more in the lot", "nothing to see here", untalented, useless, mediocre, average... 

Women that are not stunning are called beautiful, because they cannot stand to think that they're looks can be pleasant and pretty but not gorgeous beyond believe. Humans are all about the black and white; forgetting purposefully about the endless shades of grays. Talented individuals are called geniuses and prodigies for accomplishments they have ease in when in comparison to their peers. They're big fishes in small ponds, nothing more. They cannot be dark grays in this black and white world. 

Average is all about the grays.

Average means the middle point between idiocy and genius, between untalented and genius. Yet, people supplant average with below par, because while there is a high enough numbers of failures and successes, there is an overwhelming number of middle-point individuals who don't even succeed in failing spectacularly enough to be stripped away from the herd. People are scared of being sheep. 

Average means smart, and friendly, and loyal and a bunch of other nice things... good qualities are not monopolized by the individuals who do in-fact fit the bill to be called above-average. If everyone you know is quite smart, and quite nice and all those things look for the one person that's just that much more and that's probably still not above-average. The range for your investigation being so reduce in comparison to the six billion people in the world that the chances of that person truly being more than the normal population are minimal.

I also chalk this up to a quirky mechanism in our brain. See, when you're trying to prove a theory you're brain brings forth only the information that supports that theory.  Once we've established that people like to disassociate themselves from the negative-connotations surrounding the idea of being average, when they're asked if they're above average their minds go: "of course!" and proceeds to support the idea with evidence. The thing is that even average people get moments of glory, just like above-average people experience failure. The idea here is that average people experience more failure than success through hard work, while the contrary is true for above-average people with less of an effort in their part. 

In my homeland we have a popular saying "Cada loco con su tema". It roughly means "every weirdo with his theme". What it refers to is that everyone has something they're passionate about. Talent isn't an all-encompassing blessing that makes people prodigious in everything they do. In fact, talent tends to show itself in a particular area of a person's life. I firmly believe that everyone has a talent. That said, wouldn't anyone considered above-average in an aspect of their lives unknowingly or knowingly extend that recognition into their entire selves? Of course, this works because they wouldn't take into account that everyone else has an area in their life they're above-average in, therefore balancing each other out.  

Really, it all comes down to our fear of not being worthy of love and acceptance and our fear of being forgotten. We feel that in order to deserve anything in life we have to be more. More than what, though? That is a question I struggle with myself. But above-average is as good a mark as any. Above-average may put us down in history, or the local paper or at least in people's minds... or their mouths... Or anything to make it seem like one human in six billion in a millennia of lives could leave a mark in this world.

Above-average makes us feel special and worthy, it gives credit to our innermost desire of deserving respect, deserving love, deserving good things in life. Because we naively believe that if we deserve something, we'll get it. 

We live

In danger,

In fear,

In bad news

That swamp us, try to drown us.

Shouldn't it be hard to be so naively happy,

While knowing that not that far away

Someone is cold,

Lonely,

Hungry

And sad?

I really wanted a dog,

but my brother, he wanted a frog

I said "don't be silly,

Frogs are way too icky

Why can't we just get a dog?"

"Dogs are quite nice and fluffy

Frogs are always looking so stuffy

you can't train a frog

but you can train a dog

Why choose the slime over puffy?"

He looked like he understood

Said "having a fluffy pet's good"

He and mom went out

I waited back at the house

When they returned I shook

Instead of the agreed-upon dog

He'd went out and gotten a frog

It was cover in wool

My brother is a fool

Why had I trust him so?

He was an actor-to-be.

I could see it in high cheekbones, in dark curly hair, and easy grace. It showed when he stood fluidly and mightily in front of judgmental eyes. He looked like a god up there, filling every inch of the stage.

He was willing to sacrifice anything, money, comfort, even future stability for his dream.

“If I’ll starve, at least I’ll starve doing what I love.”

Words only eighteen-year-olds could feel proud of.

His unwavering resolve painted a picture both daunting and beautiful, a perfect canvas for a success story. It colored my world. 

Law school lost its shine, the politics I dabbled in didn't really help anyone, campaigning to get power for another liar… What was the point? I knew what I wanted to be doing. And law wasn’t it.

I quit.

It was worth it when I saw the excited gleam in his eyes. When my heart almost beat itself out of my chest. I applied everywhere I could. I was going to be a teacher. I was going to change the lives of teenagers, just like my own teachers had changed mine.

But, the world isn’t meant for success stories. Everywhere I looked there were dollar signs and my mother’s pinched face, eyes pained in complete disappointment with herself.

I wanted to scream.

“Try harder.” But while he sat across from me, looking grim… all I could think was that I was the only one risking anything.

All I could see where thousands of dollars in his bank account, the millions his old man was gonna leave him. The way university pricing meant absolutely nothing to him. “I’m sure you’ll find a way.”

What would you know, Trust Fund? Hover over my lips.

“Dreaming isn’t meant for people like me.” It’s just not.