In my opinion, life comes without batteries included.
Initially, there is a vacancy.
At first, you find no point in yourself, but it doesn't have an effect on you because you can't grasp self-reflection.
Then, as the mind matures, it begins not only to notice the details in it's environs, but the details in itself.
This is the development of the personality, and also something else, more fleeting. We begin to think, and think.
The conscience is a deep and murky pool that only on the hot summer evenings can one see the bottom of.
But then there is a point.
Sometimes, much later, do we realize that we have forged through the gray river with one silvery rope.
The rope of reason, leading us through our lives. One that we have mistakenly created by the fireside in the night.
Initially, our lives are buoyant and materialistic. It is only once we create our own meaning does life ask us for a meaning, and it is then that we must realize that we were the ones who created it.
The Red Cloak
A harbringer of uncomfort, it flutters in the wind on an equally red-coloured pole. A bringer of migranes, it is the center of my stress. Simply gazing upon it and formulating the context in my gray matter brings on the same anxienty as mortal realization. It is always there, looming on the edge of my vision.
I used to love that color.
