If you were a sentence written in the English language, you would be compound-complex with lots of nouns and even more verbs. You would have five dependent clauses speaking slightly about your schooling, your job, your salary, your possessions, and your wants. Only two of your clauses would speak of love, romance, beauty, poetry, chaos and adventure. But these are the independent clauses, and they’d speak with clarity, certainty, and passion.

Your structure wouldn’t always be considered conventional as your commas sometimes induce confusion. Even your appositives could be quite misleading. You would often end up being laughed at by people who judge you as ungrammatical without even giving you a second read. They would grab the upper right corner of the page you’re written on and turn it over, unsympathetically missing the meaning behind your gerund phrases masquerading as little juvenile outputs of irrationality behind your overtly reticent figures of speech.

You would have infinitives that you truly hold close to your heart and a couple of onomatopoeic mixtures of syllables that give music to your life. You would often be misunderstood, but you’d never be boring.

Intellectuals and achievers would dislike you, though, because they’d be disappointed to learn that you am full of simple words—words they’d never have to refer to a dictionary to check the meaning of. They’d even go as far as telling you that you are a waste of ink and, more especially, a waste of space. They’d critically ridicule you for not being popular, successful or bankable. They would cringe at the mere thought of your existence not contributing anything to the modern day society. You would never be quoted in any book, magazine or newspaper. Your strokes and edges have never been seen in university halls and on office walls; no one would find you significant enough to be framed or published. Basically, most people would think you are simply silly. Childish, lazy, rebellious.

But that’s just the majority.

Because you would occasionally have readers who are more emotionally inclined. Not the emotional alcoholics who regularly walk around with their broken heart’s bleeding on their sleeves, or people who cry over everything about their lives 24/7. They will be the people who treat it as a priority to read between the lines; people who know how to look at one’s conjunctions and transitional adverbs not as a convolution but as an opportunity—an opportunity to ask more, to know more, to understand more. And these are the people that you would hold onto. There wouldn’t be many of them, but they’d be more than enough to bring your syntax to life.

And every now and then, you would be lucky enough to be situated right in front of kind and compassionate eyes. These eyes wouldn’t necessarily have to be that educated in Semantics, Psychology or Literature. These would simply be eyes that have seen sentences like you in a less blinding light. These are eyes that know you’re not childish, but childlike; not lazy, but idyllic; not rebellious, but alive (and kicking). These are eyes that have the ability to read a compound-complex thing like you and see the simplicity in an instant.

And if you were a sentence written in the English language, you’d be translated to all the other languages there are in the world. Not because you are so great and influential, but simply because just like all the other sentences out there, your only goal in life is to be written and read…

… and maybe even loved.