Perishable Routines
You know those small moments of pleasure when you momentarily escape reality and break the monotony?
It’s a lie. Those moments only serve to exalt what we shouldn’t have, hear, or feel. But if we held hands, you would feel different perceptions. I think for each routine it’s different. You don’t understand, I’m merely stating facts. It’s not about what to perceive, but how.
I’m just trying to be realistic. Will the sky be yours someday? Or perhaps the oceans; would they be capable of understanding who their owners are?
Never, nothing will be yours; now or forever. Ephemeral and temporal, that is the nature of things; of the universe.
As if the heralds of time were trying to incessantly convince us of something they are not, but only of the things they allow themselves to be. Consider us beings devoid of time and how our lives must seem like a mere flash to them.
Do you understand now, all the things we desire and will never have? We try to overcome time and the best we manage is to be its slaves. Humans are pathetic, like grains of sand slipping through the pre-arranged fingers of hope. Nothing is owed to the act, nor to the hands that dream of holding the sand.
Still, through the blurred lenses of the mechanism called routine, the obsolete invisible of our lives manifests. No one would say their view of life was obscured, since the infinitesimal time of life we have shines and dies before it can be understood, and all our externalized worries.
Your existence after death will echo in memories, and not even all the remedies in the world will prevent this fate. This is the secret every child knows but every adult ignores. All the work of your life will one day be in a place no one will see, in a language no one will know.
The only thing that is ours and will never be lost are our moments; the smiles, the hugs, the touches. Every form of love. Detach yourself from the ego.
