Don't read this

I'm an actor, I act every day. I put a smile on my face and never let you know the truth. Why do I do it? Why do you say that I pretend to be fake? To entertain you, to make you enjoy life. I try to make you smile when everything tells you to gloom. I try to make you jump when everything pulls you down. I pretend it'll be alright, I'll pretend that it's for the best, I'll pretend that everything is great. I would control the world if I could, bend it to my will. I would make me not a liar, make it all ok if I could.  Yet I am only an actor, and sometimes when the world turns the right way I become a profet, enduring the worst to come ahead knowing everything would be ok. Yet most of the time I am a fool, wrong to be so hopefully silly that it will end up ok. So whether I'm right or whether I am wrong, a fool I may be to those in the world but if I have made you laugh, kept you comfort when the world would not, then a fool I may be for many days to come.

It takes extraordinary action to make extraordinary people. Yet these opportunities to become extraordinary are almost extraordinary themselves. At points, fighting your way and never backing down makes you extraordinary.  Other times it is the strength of patience and bending with will and wit that makes you extraordinary.  How does one know how to be and when? How do you practice? Are you just extraordinary every day but it's not until the weather is just right that you can see it from all points?  Do we walk along with extraordinary people all the time but never seen within that light because the shadows cover their abilities? Are you extraordinary but just haven't been given the chance to shine ?

Lost as I step in. No directions, no path. I search and see. An old man with a stack of papers stands along the corner.  He seems as if he has been standing there for years.  I ask him what he has at his side.  "Simply papers" he states, "Some say they are guides, some say they a gibberish." I ask him for a paper and one is handed along with a genuine smile of pleasantry.  Given a paper to carry with me. I read along and figure that this is the way. Yet every step I take I look down at the paper to see a different map. Sometimes only slightly different, sometimes in a completely different way.  I struggle to find trust in this paper that guides me yet I grip it with all the weight I know. I learn what I feel, what I think is right. I just feel so alone. Lost with only a paper that may lead me to my demise. I long to feel whole, I need to feel right, I need to feel what I'm doing is good. I beg justification of my soul. Then I found a traveller, stumbl...