Thought pile

We speak of love while holding grudges against accidental strangers who did no wrong. We ask for equality when we’re willing to fight only if we feel threatened or harmed. We look into each other’s eyes and make promise that we know we won’t keep but we say those words anyways; we let those lies slip through our teeth, while we whisper to ourselves words of comfort to convince ourselves that it’s for the best.

We lower our eyes at the occasion of a tragedy, not out of respect but in an attempt to shelter ourselves from sights, from the thoughts that could keep us up at night. We smile and say everything will be okay, trying to will things into existence, or sometimes out of existence, as we pray for the pain to go away. We pretend not to feel jealousy or hate, afraid to admit to these base emotions and let the world know that we’re only human. Because being human is no longer enough, we all want to be ‘more’.

Normalcy is an abstract concept, shaped century by century, second by second, a collection of averages put together haphazardly so we can begin our journey pretending we’re all the same, yet refusing to accept the similarity. Then we pretend we’re all unique, wanting to stand out and be noticed by the universe, yet we reject the idea of being ‘different’. We push and pull at the elastic walls of the world we created without realising it ourselves, trying to see the universe when we don’t even understand ourselves. We leave people unexplored, hunting instead for a god who will save us from the unknown yet take us to another unknown. We shun religion but we pray, hoping some force will help us through things that are beyond our control. We pray for ourselves and we pray for the world and we pray for the future as we struggle to make it through a day without cursing someone.

We’re running, always running, leaping towards a destination, scrambling to keep a grip on reality as our focus struggles to hold on to a goal that might not be our own. Every day we live, keep on living as we die slowly, speeding towards a better tomorrow or a catastrophe that will make sure there isn’t a tomorrow. We don’t know but we keep moving anyways. We’re always fighting to stay standing, not knowing that it’s okay to still for a while. We fight to prove that we are alive, even though a single breath is enough to tell us that we exist.

We exist in colour yet we perceive in primary shades and secondary shades and shades that we label because that’s just who we are. We’re not bad or good; there is no divide between the two. A simple wave, a slight caress could move us to into the abyss between the two figurative extremes, where we struggle with reason to guide us instead of our hearts, hoping our ancestral archetypes will tell us how to decide between rights from wrong. We admit to no mistakes as we stumble and crawl through life, always moving, always surviving in bits and pieces.

We’re still real underneath all the drama and sludge. Under layers of clothes and tissues and scars and memories, we’re real and we are here. Always close to giving up, yet always going back to dig graves and roads and pave futures for those who come next. We survive, and we force everyone to survive, out of selfish need and selfless humanity we convince others to keep living. We hold hands to comfort and to save guiding someone as we’re guided ourselves. We keep moving. Dancing, skipping, crawling, swimming, and tiptoeing around glass canyons and stone clouds. We move. We keep moving. And so life goes on…

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