They asked: "What is beauty?", "How about kindness?", "Do tell me about love." And then they'll say with much decision, "I could not see them knocking in my door.", "Things like that don't mean anything.", "Ideas are only as good as the humans who fool themselves with them.". I wish I could answer them. But who was I to pile questions with more questions? All those words curled my tongue in contempt, stung with frustration. For I have seen love—in a hospital room full of weeping strangers. I have heard hope—in a church slowly being ignored by the ones who built it. I have tasted gratitude in the last kiss I shared with a forgotten love who left all the corners of my heart in a pained heap.

Love, hope, beauty and all those unbelievable things hanging in the clouds like dreams or illusions for some. Nobody has ever seen them take form—as that 6 a.m coffee, that well-played deck in a gambler's hands, that worn out pair of shoes hidden in the attic chest(probably too precious to throw). Nobody has seen them go for or against the sea. Nobody has heard them grumble like the thunder on a good day with bad weather. Nobody has felt them brush up like the softest wind of the year. Nobody. They're made to be concealed for they do something even more dangerous and otherworldly than living side by side with us.*

They possess.  

*Like spirits who make their home with people. Burning like embers of a small fire, inaudible at first, all-consuming later. Once accepted, they take hold of the soul like their own. And they burn, ferociously, splendidly. I'd like to think all great revolutions of the mind, of the soul, of humans fragile and inconsistent—all started with that fire.What began as silly ideas became lives in our form, in our likeness. We are changed—it will never quite go back. We only have to see beyond our eyes, that they really do live in all of us.