The stars are mostly dead, even if you still see them. What good can be found in lies?
To me, this relies on one question. As long as we can still see them, are they real to us? If what we see isn’t always reality, then it is our reality. Maybe there are worse things. Maybe the truth has a way of hurting us more than our eyes would abide.
I have it on good authority that there are four simple components that, when combined, guarantee a happy existence on this floating space-rock. Unfortunately, I have it on better authority that no-one knows what these four components are. Even worse, at least two-point-three million people are currently pedaling fakes! The nerve!
I never cared how long you’d been gone, as long as you came back. Just; tell me when and I’ll leave the bolt unlatched.
When it’s quiet, well, that’s when it’s prudent to worry. It’s easy to lose oneself to the silence, that cascading cadence that manages a roar louder than any heart could take. No mind won’t break, when faced with the Nothing.
Must be freeing to know, that when you destroy the last thing worth chasing, you’ll have nowhere to go. Nowhere to be, alone, so you can fly to the only place you see, and conquer your world.
A: Why are all these stories so sad?!
Blue: There are two overarching classifications of narrative; comedies and tragedies. I find one of those to be un-apologetically boring. Satire’s alright…I guess.
PS: I do realize how meta this is.
I like ambiguity, it leaves the doors open.
Most equate you to the seething, euphoric, and acute joy one feels during an accomplishment. That feeling of well-being and contentedness, whispers promising safety as you engulf us. But, that’s not your true face. You’re a conceptual construct, a platform, an unrealistic ideal.
Happily ever after?
How could you exist, when acute joy is so fleeting. Do you refer to a plateau in which we achieve permanence in euphoria, a chronic dose of endorphin-dreams? Those wisps we’d do anything the infuse, to caress, if only for a moment. Pretend, for a moment, that you are real. What then? After a year of the pleasant mist, doesn’t the equilibrium shift? The extraordinary is the new ordinary. Do we want that? Are the ever-shifting dunes of the human mind really that terrible? To fore-go all moments to crystallize our being into a single emotion. That elusive and momentary bliss.
No. I don’t think that’s what we really want. So I’ll keep chasing the fragments of hope, follow them through the glaciers, through forest-fires, and give myself the time to figure it out on my own.
I switched my pillow to the other end of the bed last night. It made me feel happy.
The quickest way to achieve depression, is to place your happiness in the hands of others. Reserving that power for yourself isn’t always an easy, let-alone selfish, choice.