Three Thoughts Floundering
Aug 27, 2017 · 2 min read
- My mind is convulsing. It’s imagining the relief of being in a different city than where I am now, where I feel at home yet free of all the people I know and their past.
Of course certainty is a pretence. Without a dose of delusion, what are you doing in life committing to even a piece of furniture?
He tells me: it’s not me, it’s the world. That’s just how it is: love blossoms and fades; people change and want different things.
I’m constantly changing and I consistently want different things, but I always want you. - I’ve been trying to evaluate how happy I am and to recall when was the last period of time when I was truly content—happy, there’s unfortunately really not a more sophisticated, accurate word for happiness in English, simultaneously to avoid diving too deep into searching for an answer. I don’t actually want to know. But then I think: what if I wake up one day as an old person and I answer myself, without anymore youthful, wasteful disguise: you haven’t been happy for years.
- The wasp is still drowning.
I watched it happen: it crawled into the cream jar…then into the cream. That’s it. I don’t know how much time has passed but it’s now completely—oh, it’s still drowning.
Fighting for its life back, for a time when its wings weren’t soaked heavily with cream; when they weren’t drenched in the very substance it thought would sate it.
I’ve seen wasps fly. I’ve seen them submerged in liquid,
but this is my first time watching one die.
The idea of saving it was unappealing.
Not only because wasps don’t serve me nor the planet; the way it walked right into trouble was pathetic; how it wanted to dip its head into it—whatever ‘it’ was to the wasp before ‘it’ consumed the wasp to its death. The deadly mirage.
