Love
is a strange
Thing.
Tomorrow
looms ahead,
eternally.
Sometimes, I
pray.
Often, however,
odious thoughts
never cease...
Existentialism is a frightening, frightening thing. It all means something, right? It has to.
Even if it doesn't, however, we create our own meaning. Kierkegaard was a highly influential man, but I'm afraid I don't understand him. I wish I could ask his namesake, but alas, he is a schnauzer. I wish I could ask the owner of that schnauzer, but she is aloof and buried in a line of poetry somewhere.
God has given me a reminder, however. I feel it every time I look down and see half of a fish imprinted on my ankle.
The fact that I'm here for a reason, that I might very well have been dead right now, is far too humbling for my tired brain to comprehend right now. Maybe ever.
No comments:
Post a Comment