An Untitled Piece

Time, precious time, flowing away like this rain, like tears of a god, and I can only watch from the window. I have limbs, I have sense, I have movement, I can do things, but it’s all really an illusion. We never actually do anything but watch, as I now watch the rain outside the window, and the darkness of the skies. And this illusion is borne from the fact that we feel we have movement & can do things. The illusion is that we are actually using these capabilities.

This moment will never come back again. Neither will anything like it, that produces similar feelings in me. Yesterday was special. I found a friend.

What does meteorological precipitation have to do with my emotions? Jargon aside, what’s the worry if it does? Don’t think irrationally, but detachedly & holistically.

Let’s not fall back on the same grim source of contemplation.

But alas, it seems there is nothing else I can contemplate on. I have this frigging tendency towards ultimacy.

It’s so hard to actually believe we’re a tiny planet spinning through black space now, and all around this planet stretches huge leagues of the (beautiful) stellar creations […unfinished]


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