another 2am note.
Time is a human construct. Time does not end, nor does it begin. We always say that time passes by too fast, but what if we are the ones moving, not time? Picture it like this, you from one second ago was not the current you, and time is made up of time frames, in different time frames we are not the same person, in every time frames we die and revive in the next time frame. Figuratively speaking, time exists as a constant and we are the ephemeral passengers in its being.
I’d like to imagine we exist within the equilibrium of universe and the fluctuation of time. Time breathes like tidal waves, and we are the little archaeologists and constructors floating along with every rise and fall of time. Human being is a work in progressing, every one of us, and we are so transient- how can we possibly know what is the truth and what isn’t? Maybe my blue sky is actually purple in your universe, maybe my yellow is your pink, I’d argue gentle colours are better than bright colours and you may disagree, we can’t prove anything because we don’t see the world from anyone else’s vision but our own. The stranger you passed by on the street and you are actually two different universes spinning on two axes, maybe just a little altar you’ll come crashing together, not in this life though.
Trying to decipher the magic of universe is a waste of breath and this is not what I am trying to do. Time is grant and constantly and it will continuously to live even after humans go extinct, it doesn’t mean we are insignificant in the time being because we are all our own universes. It never ceases to amaze me that there are so many mindsets existing out there creating their little universes, and I appreciate humans, because I recognise their forces and everyone’s trying to stay afloat along with time’s rise and fall, we flow like liquid, we breathe like ocean.
Do you remember the first time you truly saw someone and registered it in your brain that they are here and they exist with a force of their own? Have you ever just know that you love someone just because they are alive and existing. Oh god, she exist and it is such a magical feeling.
There are a lot of things human beings can compute, not love, though. How can you be so sure that you love someone? Love is such an intangible and abstract emotion, it can’t be grasped, it can’t be explained, like a ghost that everyone talks about but no one has just say “hey I’ve saw it”. We know anger, we know happiness, we know sadness, but which one of us can be sure that we know love? I know love exists, though, I’ve caught love before, and I watched it leaped from my hand and flew away.
Have you looked at yourself today? Have you yelled “I exist! I exist! I exist!” at the mirror today? You are a force on your own, and your force has an imprint on someone else. People will remember you, you have little pieces of yourself in people’s brains, from your most beloved ones to the stranger you held the door for, have you let that sink in? Did you allow yourself to love and admire yourself?
I’ve tried to recognise that I matter, too. but I ended up getting a little frustrated because I cannot feel myself. I cannot feel the moments, I cannot feel the Earth. I feel like I am watching a movie, I feel like a spectator of my own life, losing touch with time and reality, body acting on auto-pilot. Time fluctuates like tides, sometimes it reaches my toes, other times it reaches my chest- it’s never quite the same when it returns to me, and I can never predict, nor remember. Memory is a blurry line, memory is the sand slipping through my fingers.
I am floating on the surface of a sea storm, I’ve been struggling a little bit to stay afloat, I’ve been fighting the tides so I won’t slip and drown. The harder I fight, it pulls back as hard, it’s like Newton’s Third Law, my force is the action and the tides are reaction forces; then I am a kite without a string, flying away higher and higher until I’m with the stars; then I am an astronaut that has lost connection with the Earth; then I am thunder, nothing but white rage and loud noise. Thunderous anger swirls inside my head rapidly, like it can’t wait to swallow me whole, it will eat me alive; then I am a fire that does not emit light, and I hate myself. Hate is easier to grasp than love, gritted teeth and clenched fists, it clings to me like a disease.
Then I am a stoic bone cave, with the chains of humanity around my ankles, floating in time, love doesn’t have a single meaning to me.
We are Atlas, swallowing the heavens so we can become the Earth. We are Icarus, wings decaying so we become one with the ocean. We are Aphrodite, the blood that keeps our heart pumping. We are the divine and immortal souls doomed to live a vicious cycle of grievous metempsychosis through bodily lives, desperately trying to devour and conquer time.
I imagine crushing time in my palms, I imagine melting time under my fingertips, then reconstruct it into a tender river. I’ll make it gentle, not flammable, not red hot, like a delicate poem to my non-existent lover, like a smooth sketch of full lips and collarbones. It will be the taste of a thousand nebulous dreams and striking constellations, larger than life, larger than time. Time controls everything, I want to become time.
Nobody wants to be drowned for so many years. I threw my fist at God’s jaw and shattered my heart.