There are the sinkers and the floaters. The floaters are everything that's wrong with this world. They wander through life with their eyes closed. They put their fingers in their ears and say, "La La La La La" to drown out the noise around them. They think about nobody but themselves. They lean on organized religion to feel safe. They watch mindless Hollywood blockbusters and chick flicks. They read Danielle Steel books. They live in the suburbs. They vote Republican. Or worse yet, they don't vote at all. They don't get it. Ya know, IT. And more importantly, they don't want to get it.
The sinkers are the answer to everything. They are observers. Philosophers. Daydreamers. Curious to know how and why things work. Wanting to make things better. Make themselves better. They are not necessarily happy, but are content in their own sadness. To know about the world, to feel it, to be rushing in its veins alongside all of the important things, with the leaves and the stars and the tickle of the wind. They are painfully aware of how imperfect life is. They don't need any crutches; they simply accept it. They find humor in the dark side of things. The irony of it all. They are empathetic.
So who is sadder? The floater who only feels half of the world, or the sinker who feels the entire burden of it?
