Ruminating over the threadbare reality of life does not need too much provocation. While treading on the after effects of a heady concoction, in a moment of clarity, i understand that the law of averages finally caught up with me. Us.
The pride of youth gives in to gradual resignation. There is a beauty in this slow coming over of self love, but also an inherent sadness.
As we move we, we rely more and more on the wisdom of human life, as it has been given to us. We also marvel more at our capacity to realize and ask, if any of this is our doing, our making? What divides the real from the fiction of our life? What is it that I can grasp and put in your hands if you ask me to speak my story?
Particle by particle, human existence may be deconstructed into its most basic chemical constitution. But how can my essence be captured? What is it that separates me from my physical existence?
This is not my extended existential crises, I hope. But an invasion of dreams, a living of multiple realities, a simplification of the ways of heart and an overwhelming sense of “commonplace” torments me to think; really what am I apart from my skin and bones?