Sometimes I like to do weird little texts to my friends right before I go to bed. This one was from about 2:31 a.m. and is completely random. I literally typed it and then never read what I wrote again so... *Shrug* Have fun and sleep well.
As the light we've cast upon this world has faded on the eclipse of our lives, we strive the find a fire to keep ourselves remembered and attached to this whimsical yet cruel world. As our consciousness fades into the darkness of eternity, we all wish for something more. Something greater. Something that will never satisfy our insatiable desires. Something to be remembered by so that our loved ones will not mourn our loss. Yet it is never to be found because all fades in due time. Pains are forgotten, losses lost once more. Memory is only temporary because it lasts in one person. But the soul is eternal. We never truly fade from this world, this existence. Even when we forget who we are and lose ourselves to the wind of death, our existence is never truly gone. A single grain of sand shifted is all that keeps us grounded. Our impact can be so small and uninfluential, but it still exists. The mysterious light that seems to filter in through even the darkest of places is our hopes that still linger even if our consciousness doesn't. Existence isn't positive or negative, it simply is. And all that is must be. No one is ever alone, ever forgotten, ever lost. We are merely mislead or being accompanied by the spirit of something, or even someone. It's all that we can do to not forget ourselves and whoever has stood by us. Existence, after all, is merely carrying on someone's else's legacy to the next existence rather than our own tales. We all speak of our ancestor's lives rather than our own. Are we merely tools for those before us or are we the architects for the new legend, the new legacy, the new meaning of our own singular existence? Or are we defined by others rather than who we are? After all, everyone else remembers a different story, and a different side, of you. So who is to say who or what defines us? Is it ourselves or those otherwise?
YOU ARE READING
Mmhmm I'm Bored
PoetryThose little things that pop into your head that you can't help but write down. I suppose it could be counted as freeform poetry-ish. Cover by the exalted @FableWrites.
