Life, what a peculiar thing. What a strange word, what is life?
I tell you what life is.
Life is a thing. It's a thing that is seldom lived the way its supposed to be lived. It rarely is lived happily if at all.
It is something that is frail, too frail.
It is as long lasting as paper, perhaps even less than that.
It's timed, and the strange thing is we never know for sure how long the timer has truly been set until we hear the ring.
But thing is the time isn't set for us to wake up, its set for us to fall asleep. And in our solemn sleep we cross a finish line. The finish line.
What happens after that I do not know. And I don't want to know.
This timer is set for each and everyone of us, before we are even born. The timer knows your yet to exist, and its set.
It begins to tick from the very moment you are born. Perhaps even before that. The sound is quiet.
Tick, tick, tick, tick.
Almost like a heartbeat. It echoes within the cages of your ribs.
Loud in a way, because your aware of its presence. But at the same time its silent, so silent at times we forget the sound entirely. Or perhaps we have no desire to remember.
This timer is your heartbeat. The timer is our frail lives, wasting away.
And with each passing tick the closer you are to the finish line.
The closer you are to complete and utter sleep.
The timer is at times set for too short. Scratch the at times, its always set for too short. But for some people much too short. So short its...sad.
Everybody gets a certain length of years, of hours, of minutes, of time...
How long your timer is set for, I suppose is faith itself.
Life I believe, is an hourglass.
An hourglass where the sand is rigged to reach the bottom faster. Where the glass can't be mended and is not clean.
The glass is not clean because the glass is us. And when broken it can never be mended because a immense part of being human is being shattered so easily. Too easily.
A mere accident of being dropped on the ground will shatter us so quick and so sudden it hurts...
We're the glass that exists at the outside of the hourglass.
We're the glass because our lives are so frail that we are breakable enough to be compared to glass.
The sand is the life given to us, slowly passing by before us. Like a mere flash before our eyes.
Life is like a shooting star. It's something that possess beauty. But beauty isn't something that last forever. Eventually like all good things, there comes a day were it has to end.
YOU ARE READING
~Theories
Kısa Hikaye{Completed} Luis Cowery is a eight year whom is deemed an outcast. He has no friends the rest of the children in his class avoid him. He one of those children that just aren't the same as the others, the grown up's don't deem him as someone or...
