The Mason jar of oblivion
Deep in the tapestry of my psyche are buried the secrets whispered by the nightingale of your existence — the pirouette of passion when the stage still complied.
“How do you know?”
It is when something belonging to “the cohort” comes to the surface, serving as a pointless reminder of something that once existed — a quintessential case of cascading probabilities, followed by a hopeless attempt at weaving a narrative.
“This was how it was meant to be ”
lies, damned lies meant only to soothe the incision from inside, meant only as a patchwork on the crack on your existence
Its defined by 0 or 1, and everything in between,
This very range precludes the necessity of logic, facilitating the unability to define life in discrete terms.
Trying so hard to spelunk the tunnels of mind, in an attempt to fix the wiring gone wrong, something, anything that would just push it even more beneath than what meets the eye, vindicating the need to let go.
Nonetheless,
The morning dawned upon my eye lids, a physical phenomenon received in the form of electric signals, a mellow symphony sung into my senses, perceived by the brain in its own poetry, left to its own devices.
( Hah! the archetypal characteristic of human psychology, where everything is perceived through the broken lens of ego)
The perceived degree of translucence, just enough to get you going, another attempt at wading through the non sequitur of these 0s and 1s.
Giving in to another urge to leave the threshold I’ve been standing on for too long,
hence, putting a lid on the mason jar of oblivion.
