Yes.

An hour knocks on the door and
Upon finding it shut, slides under the crack,
Slithers in uninvited to tamper with my memory
To laugh at some incomplete recollection of
A windy day followed by
A foggy night.

A Mind as hazy, as hazy as that which
Caused these beads of thought to slip
Off a string that came lose with a
Slight tug
At the nape of her neck, that night
That passed so restless and alive
In the solitude of survival,
Of pretending that we are, indeed, alright.


One of the strangest things we, as emotional creatures, do is try to attribute shreds of meaning to our mundane existences. We all bump into mental blocks, fall to pieces, get back up and then- we fall again. It's a lot to process, because when all you're doing is getting through life without ever really knowing what the point is and without even trying to attach significance to it, all you're in for is a tough time. And then one day, as you're staring into space, it hits you, this hollow epiphany- it's not a phase. It's just life.