They say that life isn't to be taken for granted. I'd always thought I was one of those few who took that advice and appreciated life as it came. I realize now that I was wrong— so terribly wrong, for now I know took many, many things for granted. The magnificent magenta that swallowed the sky as the sun headed down for sleep, the twinkling diamonds and the radiance of the pure moon that pierced the darkness blanketing the city. That fresh, cool air filling your lungs upon stepping out to the crisp morning, the sweet scent of a newly bloomed rose. Since the day I gained knowledge of my fate, every passing day is worth gold when before—it seemed more worth dirt. Of course, this newly discovered richness of life has only worsened the fact that it would soon be gone, but I now accept the outcome of my life.

                I can't help but wonder which is better: knowing for a while when your death is coming, or to be killed in an instant before you know what hit you? Most I know say they'd rather not dread over it, thus choosing the latter. I wouldn't be so sure about that, though. What about all those loose ends? Unspoken or unwritten words? The final wishes? After a week's worth of pondering, I've come to the conclusion that death from cancer is not such a horrible thing. Certainly, it is more painful than anything I've ever experienced, but does that not make one wish for death even more, to end suffering? Now, the face of death is not such a horrible thing through my perspective.

                Strange enough, the thing that bothered me the most is something I've never thought of before. Like I've written, each life is an interesting thing, but there are countless of them. Which brought me to the thought that once I rest, after a hundred years have passed, there will be no proof whatsoever of my existence. Just as if I'd never lived at all. Even if my existence were to be recorded with paper and ink, people would only be reading about me. In my lifetime, I've read many biographies. Though there seems to be every fact about the written person, including direct quotes, it is still completely different as meeting them in person. I ask myself why this bothers me to such an extent, but I can only guess, and say directly, that I don't like being so insignificant compared to everything else. Possibly I'd have gotten over the fact if I'd lived until my hair started falling out, but I still intend to leave this earth with no regrets.

                Possibly, by a slight chance, someone will discover this one day and read what I've written. Just plain piece of paper with regular ink on it, written by an insignificant person.
                My name is Julian Black; and in an hour, I will lay in my bed for the final time and rest for eternity.

"I am unique."

Romantics have sensitive feelings and are warm and perceptive.

How to Get Along with Me

• Give me plenty of compliments. They mean a lot to me.
• Be a supportive friend or partner. Help me to learn to love and value myself.
• Respect me for my special gifts of intuition and vision.
• Though I don't always want to be cheered up when I'm feeling melancholy, I sometimes like to have someone lighten me up a little.
• Don't tell me I'm too sensitive or that I'm overreacting!

What I Like About Being a Four

• my ability to find meaning in life and to experience feeling at a deep level
• my ability to establish warm connections with people
• admiring what is noble, truthful, and beautiful in life
• my creativity, intuition, and sense of humor
• being unique and being seen as unique by others
• having aesthetic sensibilities
• being able to easily pick up the feelings of people around me

What's Hard About Being a Four

• experiencing dark moods of emptiness and despair
• feelings of self-hatred and shame; believing I don't deserve to be loved
• feeling guilty when I disappoint people
• feeling hurt or attacked when someone misundertands me
• expecting too much from myself and life
• fearing being abandoned
• obsessing over resentments
• longing for what I don't have

Fours as Children

• have active imaginations: play creatively alone or organize playmates in original game s
• are very sensitive
• feel that they don't fit in
• believe they are missing something that other people have
• attach themselves to idealized teachers, heroes, artists, etc.
• become antiauthoritarian or rebellious when criticized or not understood
• feel lonely or abandoned (perhaps as a result of a death or their parents' divorce)

Fours as Parents

• help their children become who they really are
• support their children's creativity and originality
• are good at helping their children get in touch with their feelings
• are sometimes overly critical or overly protective
• are usually very good with children if not too self-absorbed

Spirits of Sorrow

A close figure exits from the earth

Too many fears this one can't shake off,

A soul frets for the love they cannot find

Another who cannot keep a straight mind.

A freak, this one is called

A quiet, shy mute, hiding in a corner,

This one receives a rejection from lust's cause

That one never gets time to pause.

A disease, illness, that won't fade away

Friends decide to turn their backs,

One loses a love and is brokenhearted

One injured and then away is carted.

Over there she lacks the beauty

Over here he lacks the figure,

Another fails at every attempt

Just one held in contempt.

No hidden talents found

Finding that you don't belong,

Raped or Abused

Shamed or Used...

These spirits of sorrow,

They all have something in common.

They all dispense tears,

Representing us- people all over the world.

But one thing they do not realize

Is that all of them feel,

They have it the worse than everyone else.

...Oh, how wrong they are.

The difference in people

 

So many days have flown by,

How many days till we die?

I glance at the passing people,

To only guess the lives they lead.

Some are rich; some are poor.

Some wear dark clothing; some wear hardly anything.

Some wear promise rings, some carry skateboards.

Some are introverted; some are extroverted.

Some give dirty looks, some give smiles,

Some are lovers; some are haters.

Where do I place in life?

I’m only one of the billions, after all.

But truly, normal ceases to exist.

And you know what...?

So do labels.