Sunday, February 26, 2017

Why is it that after childhood's lost, everything seems to be about losing ourselves or degeneration? As if building up walls and shutting in our hearts is what's needed to survive? There are people who understand and are ravaged by that knowledge; there are those who don't see further than immediate needs and live below the waterline.

It seems as though life is a process of losing things, and discovering things that we eventually must lose. I'd like to think we can create things, too, and make the world a better place. I'd like to think that's the case; but a better place for whom?

Burying my head in the sand seems almost preferable, if inexcusable. Calling myself a coward seems pure arrogance, a sort of twisted praise.

Have you seen the magic trick where someone sets a flame to a lemon peel, and after a few seconds it catches fire—a tiny explosion—and then it disappears? That was our innocence, and the fiery afterimage stamped in our eyeballs is what's left: the shadow of something already gone.

I'm not a cynic. I'm just a fool.

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