invisible badge of honor

Writing is like the unpacking of an abstract painting.

At first- it appears to be an undefinable mess. But as its explored, stroke by stroke, line by line, you make sense of the mess until it's really all quite digestible and simple.

If you we're to start with digestible and simple, though, you would not appreciate the perspective nearly as much.

An earned perspective is always appreciated more than one that's handed out like napkins.

So writing in it's simplest sense is most confusing then. It's like a painting you desperately want to share, but you don't want anyone to see it.

Or if you do share it- it's best left with some ambiguity to chew on; which actually, more likely, will just leave it disregarded altogether.

So I guess writing is more like an abstract painting that was never unpacked, never shared, and left out by the dumpster after years of collecting dust in the closet.

I guess writing is extremely meaningless and beautiful like that.

Or maybe that's just how it feels when your trying and wrap your head around a world choosing to drown themselves in cat videos and pornography.

You just scribble abstract sentences together in between Netflix episodes so that you can wear your invisible badge of honor.