November 7th, 2019

(Mood)

Life is intangible. There is nothing solid about it. It all runs together. Memories blurred. Friends forgotten. It’s an endless current of a rushing river. The deafening roar of its voice a testament to its infinite power. Drawing human souls to depths unknown, uncharted, unreachable. Swallowed alive. Drowning in the inhumane waters of an eternal flow of living things. Each one so brief and unnecessary.

Slamming into one another in meaningless chaos. Hurting. Healing. Hurting. Healing. And hurting again. Until, a few breaths later, I’m too old to heal. Then consumed and quickly forgotten. Leaving room for the next living thing to experience the strangeness of it all.

“The best you can hope for is to die in your sleep.”