Ladder to the Sun

I really want to go to sleep but the forces which handle such things are against me. Maybe though, said forces just really miss my blogging. It's worth a try.

I have a postsecret on my wall that says "I don't believe they exist, but I want to witness a miracle. Something so beautiful it almost hurts." I ponder this statement a lot, subconsciously even. I realized after some time of finding this postsecret that I have my own, personal miracles, all around me, all the time. Because people are my miracles.
Do you do it, to? Do you ever marvel at what one person will do for another, cock your head to the right and think to yourself 'how could anyone ever be so loving/generous/kind/genuine/good/happy/welcoming/lucky/wonderful?' And then walk away with a lighter heart, a busy mind, and the intention to incorporate what you've just encountered in someone else into your own life?
Constantly. I do it constantly. It's like I'm absorbed in absorbing others' good intentions, good deeds, good ideas, goodness.
And then there are some people who I carry with me all the time, be it for their goodness or just their history and sometimes even their infamy. But they are miracles to me too, whether I see them or not. Those people, those people who I can keep at the bay in mind for a few hours at a time at the most, are the people who push me to think harder, want more, ask for less, and do it all with style.
I don't need to see anything else, this beauty hurts enough. It hurts so much I'd call myself a masochist at this point.