The Best That He Could Be

There was once a man named passion, preoccupied with perfection. They said they wanted to be happy, he said he wanted to be free. So they laughed themselves to sleep, sitting in trash, and he read all the night, being all that he could be. And secretly they wished that they were more. Life was a restless fool, they tried not to want more.

But she saw just what he was, and she knew that it was good. No matter what they said, she fell up to his life, wanting the best that he could be. And she knew that it was good. He was a student of study, but a teacher of life and of love and all. And she knew that it was good.

College to congress, life and victory. Human achievement so proud, knowing the best that he could be. Happy is the hard way, until she said to loosen the tie, there’s no one else to impress, and she said there’s no one else to impress — you don’t have to be great all the time. Purpose has its purpose and that is all, circular truth has its call — you don’t have to be great all the time, there’s no one to impress when you’re alone.

But foolish existence was below his existence, and he knew he couldn’t fall that low, he had to be the best that he could be. There’s always someone to impress, especially when your alone. You’ll always be with yourself, forever impressed by himself, he watched her walk away, down the stairs across the street, into the trash of happiness, but he had his purpose. And through her night-time tears, she still knew it was good, she knew it was good.

He spoke to himself, the only one who understood:
“Obsession’s no vice, the greatest good, the best one can be. Happy screams are nothing more than people trying so hard to breathe. I don’t breathe to breathe, I breathe to live and to live to love. I’m the one who will always be the best that he could possibly be. And when I’m alone, the only reason I help me live is because I know — I know –

– I’m the best I can be.”