on being
to be born is to have it happen more than once. to be alive does not mean one will always know the joy of it. i can feel the blood pumping through my body. it's a surprise. has it always felt this good just to sit? another day without a poisonous vice to keep me afloat. i always thought new starts would be more bombastic. . .some background music? horns? a cheering crowd celebrating?
the most i get is the sun coming up every morning - another day - to figure out how to get through it. silence is simple to deal with. there are more important battles to tackle.
for a long time, that's what i've been used to hearing ; the quiet. without the pinging of notifications or the distractions that come from apps, it's easy to feel free, but lonesome. sometimes it's nice to be alone - usually, i embrace it, but lately i realize what started as being in charge of my time has begun to gnaw away at my heart.
i do not need constant excitement or a never-ending carousel of friends, however the life of one without the bare bones of social interaction is not one for the weak. being alone isn't necessarily the problem, but being told you're missing out if you're not always out there chasing, may be.
i'd like to use this space to honor myself and anyone else who was given the gift of breath and time. we can become and deconstruct. we can build or simply do nothing. we can breathe, feel, think ; ponder or fill ourselves with wonder. i think some people are afraid of existing without anyone else knowing about it. i think even more still, that there are those who live who can't bear the idea of not mattering and that it turns them into something twisted and largely without empathy.
i still exist, despite many times where i wished i no longer had to. many trials later i think back to previous words - ' i guide myself, feel proud, then tired, then blank. this cycle repeats but somewhere in between, there is a warmth in knowing me. '- and let my own echoes fill me up.