Being humble comes not from being happy. Humbleness stems from the depths of being sad, depressed, uncertain; your worst. It stems from a place where men wish not to journey, a place he never wants to call home nor a place he wishes to detour. An unexpected place, it’s a place that breeds the unfamiliar. A place where many hatchets must be buried; pride is the deadliest in this space.A free but costly place, a place that nevertheless wastes no mans time. At this place, one becomes broken yet made whole again. A place that spares no lesson, it issues it all to its student in just one sitting. Humbleness is never found in the humbled, by then they must have been transformed. Once filled with pride, now remains empty, empty of all they once possessed and empty of the now. It was unmeant to steal anyone’s joy. The reality borrows what you once had and issues you more. It does so in a way that surpasses silence, a thief in the night is not once seen to be so sharp. All that is taken will be given back times fold, but only through the acceptance of the first and the last. A state many despise but behold it, nonetheless. It comes not as an option, but to opt in its entirety. A life without a lesson will be that of a blank page, the page that turns to pages then a book is seen in the end. An empty book will eternally be up for grabs. It appears to be new but its shelf life old.
Lessons are written without a pen; ink is never needed, nor even a lead. As I write I am being humbled, by many years of unwritten pages. Pages which have been filled but all was neglected. Lost in society I was caught up with a lot, many of which believed to be right but many of which were utterly wrong. I never signed up for this or barely identify it to be, but if it is said things just happen a lie would be spelled. Nothing just happens because it had to, birth in itself automatically includes death. Nothing just happen.