I face my empty palms upwards and clench them slowly. I don’t know what it is about life that is so ambiguous and scary. Perhaps it is life himself as a whole.
I close my eyes and I wonder. What would it be like living as somebody else? Would I be happier or would I be sadder? What would life be like as somebody that’s not me?
I spend my days pretending to be a better version of myself, then I get home and everything crumbles into dust. Who am I again, I have to ask and remind myself. Oh, I am me. What desolation, oh woe is me.
Through the eyes of a child the world is beautiful and then you grow older. You finally see it for what it truly is. Something so dark and unforgivingly cruel.
But where is home when you’ve gone astray?
“Your child is a gift, a mere loan from God,” that’s how the saying goes; at least paraphrased that is. We are all living on borrowed time.
At any second of any day, your hourglass could run out of sand. And then what? What happens then?
We don’t know. We truly don’t have a clue.
Then again, wait.
Who are we again?
xx Solaris Denali