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Monday, June 4


It's impossible to love the way you want to. It's impossible to fall from the sky while dreaming of the ocean. It's impossible to live a lie within the bowl of our existence. Because all is curving downwards, the slope is curving downwards, all of it into me. Into us. At the bottom of everything.

(I think that's been used before. What a cliche.)

I wonder if the sky was blue when we didn't exist. Or is it the throbbing pulses of or veins that have colored it the way it is--dirty splotches of life creating the horizon from unbreathable air.

I forget things exist; but as soon as I find them, I convince myself I cannot live without them. Only to lose them again. A pile of dust in a room I've long stopped living in.

It is only when the lights come on that she sparkles and burns in the way that she used to. Fluttering to the floor without a heartbeat to differentiate the living from the dead. And then I wonder. What does it mean when the sun explodes into a million fiery butterflies, descending from the universe until they swallow everything whole? Confusion.

I am well aware that I don't make any sense when I don't filter what I'm thinking. What I'm speaking. What I'm letting go through the keyboard and into the unfathomable surface of a world that exists only behind glass screens. If it is untouchable, if it is indescribable, if it is a mass conduction of something that can never be captured, does it exist? Faith in existence. Faith in the world.

Faith in everyone's god(s). Who is to say that mine is greater than, stronger than, more capable of making a peanut butter and jelly sandwich than yours? I don't think he is. I don't know, actually. I've never asked him. I'm sure his beard is bigger than your god's beard. Unless your god doesn't like the way a beard makes his cheekbones look. In which case, that comparison is non-applicable, since he's probably sensitive about his lack of beard. I won't bring it up; because I'm not mean like that.

But honestly. Who decided this? Who decided that we should all have separate gods that we've never ever seen, but then argue about what these gods must have wanted and done until blood covers the ground and everywhere there are mothers crying for the children who died in the name of something that suddenly doesn't seem true. Because how could such things exist under a reign so supposedly kind and powerful?

My god is your god is her god is their god is all life is all happiness is equality is strength is determination is inevitability is existence. Don't you see?

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