It’s gone too fast. The time. How do we adapt? The time has come and gone. And now, it’s just memories of our reality. I still remember clearly, well, vividly, turning 18 and rampaging through the streets of this new city.
But now I sit and ponder the questions of what could be, of what could have been. Whether or not the path I had taken, the days I spent, were worth it in the end.
Because in the end, I’m left with fabricated emotions and notions that attempt to satisfy my inner desires. What do I desire? Am I even satisfied? Will I ever be satisfied?
Everyday I wake up to my mirror. Everyday I wake up and watch myself decay as I age, in this cage that we call an apartment. Pissing into the toilet bowl.
I guess this is the life of a young man, and I’m sure, close to the life of a young woman. We’re all trying catch a breath, that small break to have some time to breathe that fresh air. We’re all longing for something to feel. Joy, sorrow, or anything in between as it’s the only thing that can reassure that we’re real and still living.
All we really know is that we’re all stuck here as souls, in containers that someday will get old. In containers that are so vulnerable. In a container that is so complex that it goes beyond our own understanding, and yet will gradually dissipate back to the simple cycle of the Earth.
That’s how it goes. I guess that’s what makes this life so worthwhile. That smidgen of time that we can all call an experience. That smidgen of light we perceive into our very own eyes, and into our very own hearts. And as this stream of consciousness enter the thoughts, I realise the value of my life. The value of life, of any life.
The most bizarre thing about this is that we’ve always known and experienced the relentlessness of time throughout our lives. When your favourite cartoon show ends and you have to wait a week for the next episode. When your parents insist on you to go to bed cause it’s too late. Those curfews that consistently cut your fun short. Or even that annual celebration of your birthday, a constant reminder that you’re one year closer. Despite all that, we turn a blind eye to the truth. Rather, we choose to ignore the truth. I know I used to. Going about my days, spending money and not giving the slightest fuck about what else was happening around me. Intoxicate ourselves until our sweat and tears drip of only chemicals, not entirely sure why. Just following.
Then this day comes. When you realise and acknowledge everything that you do. You have your reasons, well, that’s what I’ve converted to. But these reasons are always seeking for a purpose. While that purpose is always seeking for a solution. But the bitter truth is, that most answers, most solutions are never really satisfying. They leave you, at best, content.
What piece is missing? It’s strange but realising that I have some dissatisfaction feels oddly rewarding. The irony is beautiful in its own twisted way… don’t you think?
Categories: streets of milk