If a Lighthouse Were a Human

If a lighthouse were a human, I'd probably fall in love with it. No, scratch that. If a lighthouse were a human, I'd choose to be friends with it. Well, actual love starts with friendship — passion starts with whatever (that's why it ends so soon). But that's a different story.

What is so attractive about a solitary lighthouse, standing apart, enduring all storms and heat on its own? Everything.

Starting with being apart. No noise, no random passersby or unnecessary visitors, no self-admiration (all respectable landmarks love fussy adoration, endless pilgrimages of connoisseurs and simply curious onlookers).

"Being apart — that's boring," you'd say. Yes, up to a point. Then you grow up (and this can happen at any age, actually) and tend to take a step or two apart.

Apart from draining interactions, empty talks, fussy pleasures that have lost their magic. Apart from this endless race called 'being ahead of the planet itself'. Just to slow down and take a breath. And then you start enjoying it — slowing down and staying a bit apart.

Don't worry, this might never happen with you, especially if you nearly dislocated your jaw yawning while reading this. But if you are still here, be careful — this "apart" virus can affect your brain. Or heart.

Back to the lighthouse. It just shines no matter how gloomy or stormy it is around. It does nothing but shine calmly, and that attracts those who truly need its light.

Its quiet power is very special and comforting. What a person it could be: unbreakable, yet gentle enough to guide others through storms. I'm almost in love. How about you?

Chairomai