The fire under the rock

Its the not knowing, the unending sadness, the hope that life will one day turn out better. That, is the tether that holds most of humankind to the anvil that is life. 

Slowly sinking, feeling the crushing weight as the air around you capsules your descent into the dark, deep unknown

Writing is strange. Its a melancholic endeavour so embroiled in the human psyche that it sometimes gives me pause. To be human, is to think. To think is to say, to say is to write and in turn to think. And so the yin and yang seem to circle back, and connect. 

I am but a simpleton. Wandering and wading through the depths of what I do not know, guided by the dim light of what I do. And maybe then, that is my entire story. 

 Maybe then, it is not



- Je suis une homme

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