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, without care to how much our fellow life 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 cannot help but wonder about the unfairness of such a 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 to neither left nor right, even though, nothing is meant to remain as it is, to stay still. While the plants grow, the rocks give into erosion and the water turns into gray shaded clouds, consequently and ever so gently, purple rain will fall. We have landed here to feel and decay, hopefully with grace. One apple a day keeps the doctor away. Stretching, drinking 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. From there, right where you are, I freely adore you and our history with its subjective length. I use it all at convenience, my own, now that you are a two dimensional colour in my imagination where we are both to each other very kind, building sandcastles by this, forever submitted to erosion, coastline.
Sand castles. Short-story from 12 o’clock-tales and after hours thoughts. The book
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