SAND CASTLES

In the realm of the brain we punish ourselves for the doings of our, much under appreciated, biological setting. If we could only just be kinder to our irremediable nature. Walk hand to hand with our deepest desires, the relatable and the obscure, careless to how much our fellow warriors are willing to endorse, for to some of us that might as well compare to an apocalypse of the zombies affair. No license to lust. So my fellow fighters in this crusade for survival can justify the lack of action within the paragraphs of their very own un-satisfaction. Can we blame ordinary life? I can’t help by wonder about the unfairness of the proposition. Life is life, wonderfully raw, tough life. And then, there are our decisions, our standing by the fork of a path unwilling to move nor left neither right, for nothing is meant to remain still. As the plants grow, the rocks give into erosion and the water turns into clouds, and consequently, ever so gently, purple rain falls. We have landed here to feel and decay, hopefully with grace. One apple a day keeps the doctor away. Stretching, drink water, sunscreen. I find it easier to care for you unconditionally now that you are gone and live in my head at one arm’s length. Right where you are, I freely adore you and our history, with its subjective lenght. I use it all at convenience, my own, now that you are a two dimensional colour in my imagination where we are both very kind, building sand castles by the forever erosioning coastline. 

Sand castles. Short-story from 12 o’clock-tales and after hours thoughts. The book

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