Somebody once told me that a feeling feels like it will last forever. How silly it is. I soar to the heights of joy, I stretch my limbs and my rays of power and love extend infinitely in front of me, infinitely behind, infinitely now. And though I know that this will pass, that hard days lie ahead, nothing can touch me. I am in love, in love with living until, well, until I’m not.
Then the dark days come. They were just around the bend. I knew that they were there. I knew, but the knowledge sat apart. It had no place in the serotonin and dopamine coursing through my mind. Yet now I sink, low and ever more low, the world passing by as in a fog. I know that if I could just get my head up, up above the fog, I could see clearly again. I could feel clearly again. I could love clearly again. But the fog stretches on, dulling and saddening life until, well, until it doesn’t.
And then there's the middle, the calm, the everyday humdrum that exists when all of the pieces besides the dirty dishes sit snuggly in their place. No care but dishes, yet I still feel the weight of the dishes. It is nice to live here, the only here I have. The only here I have ever had, until, well, until there's more.
To feel transience instead of knowing transience! What would that be like? A dull ache accompanied by an endless optimism? Or an optimism accompanied by an endless dull? An indifference? How could one be indifferent to love? How could one be indifferent to sorrow?
A feeling feels like it will last forever. How silly it is.
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