He'd failed.
But that was nothing new, he failed a lot, it seemed. This wasn't what was so brilliant about him though. No, it was the fact that he always bounced back that amazed them all so.
How could a man who spent so much time choking on the dust of his own crushed aspirations still walk head held high like that? How could he, after being beaten so, time and time again…watching those he loved betray him, having his ideals skewed so frequently, his dreams torn…how could he still care like that?
How could a boy who grew up spit upon love anything so dearly. How could he burn with such fierce devotion? Glow with such warm compassion? But most importantly…how…after so many failed attempts, after always falling short…could he arise in the morning ready to try again? It baffled them all.
A quiet, awkward little girl had once said it best. He was a "proud failure", she had said, and she'd hit the proverbial nail on the head. He was indeed a proud failure. A brilliant failure. A beautiful failure, who shined so brightly that even those gifted with success envied him.
He was a hopeful failure, a dreamer who built himself from nothing with sweat and blood and tears.
Because in the end, all anyone has is hope, a dream, and their own two hands.
Dream on, proud failure.
Haven't put anything out for a while.
Happy B-day and all that.
Grum.