"Nothing is what it seems, and yet it is all essentially the same.", he thought.
"We love, we fail, we fail, we love"...and the endless cycle continues. There should be nothing boisterous about the 5th time you are in love, and yet, it is a sweet cacophony within the heart.
What moves your heart, could it churn the ocean too?
"Life is supposed to have been simple.", you are born, you eat, you fuck, you die, and then you are forgotten.
And yet nothing is what it seems. You sometimes blister, then you burn, sometimes you burn, and then you blister.
The journey is the same, the scenery just feels different.
"I have realised", he said with a deep weariness, "that when the clock strikes 12, another day has to start. The dead have to buried, the living have to forgive, and the waltz must continue."
"....and yet I do deeply mourn your loss.", he murmured. "Why is it that nothing is what it seems?"
"I am old, I am fragile. I am ready to die, and yet the Lord won't send for me. He believes my time is not up yet.", he pensively ground his index finger into the other hand.
"It seems to me that the only way to live is prepare for death. But nothing really prepares us for death. Nothing can prepare us for something that we cannot comprehend. Nothing can prepare us for something that we are taught to dread."
"I hear a dirge in the background. It sounds like a fugue from Bach. It feels like Bach. The incredulity of his genius shines through."
"I sit, I wait, I miss you. I miss what we had over 30 years ago. I yearn for a day of seeing you again. I know it will never happen."
"The end just seems like an event. The birds never stop tweeting. They are tweeting to cheer, to mate, to welcome spring. They don't know what mourning is."
"Mourning feels like yearning. And yet nothing is what it seems it is."
"We love, we fail, we fail, we love"...and the endless cycle continues. There should be nothing boisterous about the 5th time you are in love, and yet, it is a sweet cacophony within the heart.
What moves your heart, could it churn the ocean too?
"Life is supposed to have been simple.", you are born, you eat, you fuck, you die, and then you are forgotten.
And yet nothing is what it seems. You sometimes blister, then you burn, sometimes you burn, and then you blister.
The journey is the same, the scenery just feels different.
"I have realised", he said with a deep weariness, "that when the clock strikes 12, another day has to start. The dead have to buried, the living have to forgive, and the waltz must continue."
"....and yet I do deeply mourn your loss.", he murmured. "Why is it that nothing is what it seems?"
"I am old, I am fragile. I am ready to die, and yet the Lord won't send for me. He believes my time is not up yet.", he pensively ground his index finger into the other hand.
"It seems to me that the only way to live is prepare for death. But nothing really prepares us for death. Nothing can prepare us for something that we cannot comprehend. Nothing can prepare us for something that we are taught to dread."
"I hear a dirge in the background. It sounds like a fugue from Bach. It feels like Bach. The incredulity of his genius shines through."
"I sit, I wait, I miss you. I miss what we had over 30 years ago. I yearn for a day of seeing you again. I know it will never happen."
"The end just seems like an event. The birds never stop tweeting. They are tweeting to cheer, to mate, to welcome spring. They don't know what mourning is."
"Mourning feels like yearning. And yet nothing is what it seems it is."
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