The emptiness that’s rooted in the fact
of our awareness that our lives are excruciatingly short
(in the ephemeral sense)…
They come at me like melodies of nostalgia
permeating through my mind’s eye
with songs of vaguely familiar,
not-too-distant memories;
painted from the residuals
of the hands of time.
Perhaps the seemingly noble act
of pondering my alone-ness
is only a means to meet my own selfish desires
which affords me the indulgence
of the illusion of the paradox of being wholly human;
the antonym of what’s lacking in the physical sense.
Like the habitual eating to fill the human emptiness;
the attempt to fill the un-fillable.
The desire to attempt to absorb all of me.
All of my humanity.
In and out and within;
in my entirety.
To try to comprehend all of who I am.
To try to understand
the unending depth of the eternity of the me
that exists in this dichotomy of the temporary existence
that seems all-too-real…
in that the moment that passes me by;
each moment in and of itself
is as long as endless
and as wide as always.
But in the end,
this may be
just the perpetual attempt
not to lose myself.
Even more an attempt to find myself.
How foolish of me…
this wretched illusion still comforts me…