I think of the beauty in the obvious, the way it forces us to admit how it exists, the way it insists on being pointed out like a bloody nose, or how every time it snows there is always someone around to say, "It's snowing."
But the obvious isn't showing off, it's only reminding us that time passes, and that somewhere along the way we grow up.
Not perfect, but up and out.
It teaches us something about time, that we are all ticking and tocking, walking the fine line between days and weeks as if each second speaks of years and each month has years listening to forever but never hearing anything beyond centuries swallowed up by millenniums, as if time was calculating the sums needed to fill the empty belly of eternity.
We so seldom understand each other.
But if understanding is neither here nor there, and the universe is infinite, then understand that no matter where we go we will always be smack dab in the middle of nowhere. All we can do is share some piece of ourselves, and hope that it's remembered.
Hope that we meant something to someone.
YOU ARE READING
Broken Parts
PoetryThis is a collection of poems and short stories by myself and I wanted to share them with you.
