I used to see life as a staircase. I think the steps have ended. It's just this rushing river now, deeper and colder than I'd like. I step from wound to wound, sore enough to keep me afloat.
It's all make-believe. No one really knows what they are looking for. We're all just wasting time awaiting for the end. We imagine we have a purpose. We make ourselves up, dress up, dress down, according to occasion. We want to believe that we're the ones choosing. Yet life keeps happening, like waves. You open a door, and here it is, ready to drown you. Which makes me wonder if there's a master puppeteer out there, amused at our puny efforts.
Are you having fun?
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