Time – a relevance to nothing, yet an annexation to fear. There's always a time, a chance to wait for a better opportunity to remorse, to diverge into something ornate. Once you've reached this grand feeling, you experience something else to live for. You begin to realize time is nothing but an essence to lose of courage, with every minute passing another bit of hope and courageousness is lost in a sea of epic proportions. Some drive into time readily, where as others fine themselves lost in this sea, with no support or way out of the water.
I've passed through life without a care in the whole, until now. No is my time to show my fear and show my highest points in life, yet I disguise myself in a masquerade of lies and secrets, hidden from the ones who need to know. My fears and insecurities are at their highest points, but why? I've always been known as either the child who smiled very little or the mature kid who uses their talented abilities to endeavor jokes about nothing that actually matters. In actuality, I've only seen my real self once. This moment was the light to my future, if I had only looked for the North Star to guide me.
That moment took so long to find, but showed my real courage. The courage that was non-existent until then, until "the one" shined brightly right in front of my face. Their masquerade was lightly decorated than mine, with an eye peeking out what the far right. Their acknowledgement to me was, also, much greater than mine to them. Their existence was much more known than mine, by far. I was a "nobody" with a dream of staying that way.
I had never planned on living my "nobody" lifestyle, wishing for a "somebody" to just appear with some godly amount of hope and fearlessness. He had the most radiant smile, with the brightest blue eyes imaginable. He smelled of original scent, with an average sense of style. I never thought of him ever being anyone I'd even consider, beforehand. Then, that wondrous day struck, he sat by me in some never-going-to-be-useful class. The first day, I never thought much of him, like the aforementioned he was very plain.
That all changed when I realized he had an odd amount of sensitivity and mature taste of style in art. He wasn't a master painter, nor was he a fan of surrealism, like myself. He just had a style of drawing, so romantic, so elegant. The way his hands moved alongside the edge of the paper was so genius, and a side I've never would of even suspected to be him. He was much too caught up into the world's perception of him and what he did to show it. But when he did show his artistic side, I felt like he had shown me a part of himself, his real self.