So easy
it is, to think life is too long. As seconds tick by, minutes fly away, hours
flow, weeks pass, months disappear, and years are left behind, we look forward
in a foolish pretext that we'll live forever. So would our loved ones. But they
won't. And so won't we. Because if you look up at the skies, you see a silent
moon look back at you with it's perfect constant emptiness. You see stars and
that darkness in which they swim, exactly the same as they were when you looked
at them as a child in your mother's lap.
But now
you've grown up, scars drawn down your face like footsteps of time mercilessly
etched multiple times. We harden as beaten steel cast in strong pillars,
foundations immovable with their might, to support a life built like castles of
sand, guarded by principles and emotional and wisdom and shields of true
pretext. And then as we stand amazed looking at that strange face in the
mirror, who looks back equally amazed at how amazed you are. That lie strikes
back too hard. A lie we innocently accept and absorb in its evil silence.
