We often say there is no more to reality than that of the conscious mind. I would beg to differ. In all my years I have seen beyond the eyes of the wildest soul, and fallen deep into the embers of the smoldered flame of time. Time. Time. Time. Almost as monotone as the ticking of the clock upon my wall, such a sharp yet subtle sound that can mean the end for many. Yet though we see the years go by through our eyes, very rarely does anyone want to think of the essence of time, for the reality of our fate would crash upon us like a wave. But what is more to time than the nothingness of itself? Does time truly exist? Such things are always subconscious, pooling like goo into the back of our minds as we go through each day, every day, every hour, and every second racing through life never taking the time to appreciate those around us or see who we eventually become! But is that how it's suppose to be? Is life suppose to move so fast? And if time doesn't exist, is the madness of our lives all a lie? We don't want to think beyond the surface of ourselves but deep within their is wonder of the unknown, of the dimensions within the frame, of the damp beyond the dry, and of the soul beyond the mind. We all try to keep ourselves occupied with others to avoid ourselves, the one person we know best, yet know nothing at all of. Think. Think. Think. time. Time. TIME. Such is the monotone darkness of the human mind.
