Life is not clear. Time will move on. Our minds will be stuck in the past. Sometimes, I long for the days gone by – when life was simple and I had no responsibility to behold.
No rebellious mind or pain-laden body.
No desire to discover the intricacies of human relationships.
When I could just be in the company of others and enjoy it for what it was. An interaction with someone who cared for me in some way and I did not mind what that way was.
And on other occassions I have a strange desire to tear myself limb from dastardly limb in some vain, forlorn attempt to rebuild myself, to become someone else. And then I see that, in doing so, I could be no better than the parts that I now have.
Senseless though it may be, this is why I look into the mirror and see nothing but a scruffy mess of flesh and hair looking back at me, a look of utter desperation in his eyes as he looks to escape from the ideology of life.
On occassion I am reminded of childhood and at these times I see more clearly than ever that I can never grow up. Grow as old as I might, I seem destined to have the mindset of a child for what may seem to be an eternity.
But no man walks earth for an eternity. Every human being, however great or small their impact, is destined for death. A short run upon the stage of life before the pain ends.
Blissfully.
Peacefully.
And in that time, some may fill their lives so completely that there will suddenly be a great chasm in the souls of others. Some will leave the land of the living with nothing more than a whimper.
Such is death.
