This is a little experiment where I will write. And I will not stop. Until I feel it’s time. Time, it’s an abstract concept, don’t you think? It’s not of the world, but also, it is. In an odd kind of way.
What is life, I often wonder. It’s the little things taken for granted. It’s the flowers we walk past every day, without looking. It’s me. It’s you. It’s us. It’s them. All of us living in a world where everyone else is so easily wrong. All of us looking for something more. Better. Free-er. Right-er.
A little bit lost, most of us. A little bit bamboozled. Unsure. Unsure and beautiful. Unsure and strange. Unsure and almost there, but never quite there because ‘there’ will never be a place we can find on a map. And if we do happen to find it, we don’t want it anymore because ‘there’ always looks better from ‘here’.
Nothing’s certain. Nothing’s true. Nothing’s right, nothing can be. Ever. Not when all our eyes are made from different shades of wonder. Different shades of serious. Different shades of true.
But one thing I do know is this. Life is beautiful. Precious. Mine. Yours. Ours. It’s safe and it’s unsafe and isn’t that the point? Isn’t that the beautiful part? The not knowing. The being here, the never really knowing where ‘here’ is?
This was a little experiment where I wrote.
A little experiment that will go on. And on. And on.