Notes like anchors on my skin. Landing, digging in and making themselves at home in my psyche. They carry me, wind me around the linearity of people’s thoughts and then dump me, crassly, to free fall unapologetically back to earth. Why do we fear the aftermath so much? Why do we side step every cause of it, even when the cause may be joy? Is it due to its fleetingness, its mockingly transitory nature? Do we calculate all great things by their longevity then? But nothing exists beyond the now. Nothing is as it is, it is merely what it will become.
No comments:
Post a Comment