The Avalanche

Too much time left on the clock for a quick definition, a convinced understanding of what it means to love. Woke up with a sinister laugh from a dream that mimicked a reality too beautiful for the living. After feeling full and light in flight, I crashed at first sight of a pretentious daylight. Dying isn’t just relevant to the physical moment when the heart and the brain cease to give the body life. Dreams like to remind us of what we could have had. It will never be forgiving. We die several times in our lives. A waking death, I call it. It paralyzes the soul. The autopilot kicks in and breathing exists, just to breathe, to keep the body in motion, to repeat the algorithm of rhythms, set in stone by the maker. Nothing more. For if you take away logic and reason, our bodies operate in the same way. We all have caged hearts that palpitate at the slight touch of anothers fingertips, at someones gentle breeze of a breath on our necks, that wanting… but we are all elected this same fate. Some of us 10 times more than others. Thoughts are not easily settled, but rather constantly undressed and exposed. Crippling in our dreams most often. What does it matter anyway, if we’re all just dancing with lubricants of 8.0% by volume. Nothing is real, right? Maybe for some, comfort and clarity come without acknowledgment of human emotion, perhaps they are better off ignorant. Some of us find hope in the journey. Some give up at the very thought of picking up the pieces and trying again. Some of us pick up and make the same mistakes, that which makes us fools. The search for meaning may make us foolish. Maybe I like the foolish life.

~ by emaline on July 22, 2008.