Every morning the world is reborn, and every night it dies a little. We live inside a daily cycle of endings and beginnings.
Life passes by in an instant. The present holds the most, the past leaves a mark, and what is coming is always breaching, never within reach.
We die every day and are reborn again and again. The fresh start leaves behind the agony and pain of what came before. Time's worth is lost on repetition.
The days begin fresh, mostly indifferent from what follows. But as the day progresses, all the inherited weight accumulates. The wear and tear.
Photo by Christopher Stites on Unsplash
What is? And what could have been?
Almost all the days pan the same. A struggle to get started, getting through, finding that the thing I am doing is vain. The human mind gets lost in absurdity. Mostly I cannot comprehend the lasting cost of avoidance. As the day progresses, the dusk and the tiredness signal that it will not all last. The energetic self that started the day will, at some point, have no desire left.
As the veils begin to emerge, I become more conscious. The externalities, the sounds and quarrels, lose their grip.
Getting into a show or going out, thinking allows me to get a hold of myself.
The energy is gone, the will exhausted, knowing that the day is lost. Thinking is all I can do.
No coercing. I am conscious.
The thoughts are all I have.
I can write them down
or they will get lost.
Everything does.
I like the way I am at night. Numb. Nothing matters. The day spent.
I feel like this must be what we feel at the end. Nothing done, yet buried under the weight of days passed. The will to avenge and conquer but no energy left.
All we can do is contemplate.
Such a humbling experience.
Entry into the contest: Midnight Letters Prompt #24: What makes the night different from the day for you
and you.....yes, the one reading. I appreciate you going through my spank bank....
