I'm alive. I feel my stomach expand and contract as I take in air subconsciously. I feel the tiny hairs on my hand sway in the wind. I can taste the remains of a meal still hidden between the crevices of my teeth. I can see the world go by. I can smell the remains of a fire, from the not so green process of disposal of withered leaves. I hear the constant ticking of the table clock tick...tick...tick...Yet time seems to be moving at a lazy pace. I seem lost in this world. All around I find other characters go about their lives with a sense of purpose. I know I'm alive but where is the connection with this world?
People go about their lives living in the moment called time, yet here I wait eagerly for the next change in the otherwise monotonous existence that seems to be persisting. The most insignificant of changes, like the sound of steel rods being dropped at the construction nearby, or the sound of a local folk song played over the radio, or even the sound of laughter to a joke shared between friends in the adjoining room seems to show a flicker of activity. What kind of an existence is this when you can feel, hear, smell, touch and yet are not able to relate and connect with?
The steady whirring of the fan overhead and the sounds of the world beyond come crashing down on my thoughts. This disturbance is a welcome change to the solidarity within my head. Do I find the company of others as a source of relief? Experience as shown me that I seem more like a bot in a game, pre-programmed to fill in the requirements of the necessary participants in this game called life. There is a purpose of me being exactly where I am in this moment, at this place and doing the exact same thing. Its a mystery to me, but here I hope, to live each moment with a sense of purpose.
People go about their lives living in the moment called time, yet here I wait eagerly for the next change in the otherwise monotonous existence that seems to be persisting. The most insignificant of changes, like the sound of steel rods being dropped at the construction nearby, or the sound of a local folk song played over the radio, or even the sound of laughter to a joke shared between friends in the adjoining room seems to show a flicker of activity. What kind of an existence is this when you can feel, hear, smell, touch and yet are not able to relate and connect with?
The steady whirring of the fan overhead and the sounds of the world beyond come crashing down on my thoughts. This disturbance is a welcome change to the solidarity within my head. Do I find the company of others as a source of relief? Experience as shown me that I seem more like a bot in a game, pre-programmed to fill in the requirements of the necessary participants in this game called life. There is a purpose of me being exactly where I am in this moment, at this place and doing the exact same thing. Its a mystery to me, but here I hope, to live each moment with a sense of purpose.
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