aimlessendeavours
Bowling. It makes me focused. All I see are the pins, the heavy ball in my hand, the sweat that has lathered on my forehead, and the pairs of eyes that are all on me - watching my every move. Bowling. It makes me focused. My grip on the ball loosens, and I plunge it forwards, hearing it as it moves across the laminate, polished floors. Then, I see the unimaginable, so I squint, though my vision is as clear as ever - but I squint, just to make sure I'm not hallucinating or dreaming.
But I know I'm not dreaming.
The cheers, the applause, the high-fives from friends, and the dark stares from foes, are enough to assure me that I am indeed in the now - in the here, and all that had just occurred has happened.
I've won.
I'm a planter. I plant memories in your heads, until you become confused little critters, searching the nooks and crannies for little crumbs of bread. I'm a planter. I plant happiness in your heads when I so choose, then you wear smiles over your faces, big flashy, brazen smiles, and ostentatiously you act, showing the other being beside you with whom I've gifted less happiness how grand your life is. However, just as I've gifted you with happiness, you must evoke to mind, how I also have the capability of snatching it away from you.
I am, after all, a sadist.
And I love to see you twist and turn, see your smile turn into a frown, see you drown in your own tears.
You come to me, hopeless and exhausted. Down you fall to your knees, and you wrap your hands together, fold yourself into a pitiful posture, and your lips part open, the tears have turned into blood, and you ask, "Why?"
My answer is simply really.
Because I can.
There's too many methods to take. Shall I take this path or that? My minds goes awry, and numb. There's too much sensory input. Oh god. Where am I heading? My thoughts are not in harmony with my actions.
I act cold.
Numb.
And Dry.
To say 'both' is a lie. For, in reality there is only one. There's no such things as two pairs. For instance, grab a shoe. There is only one shoe, though it may be accompanied by another identical pair. However, we find it necessary to wear both shoes, or else our feet will get wounded if we walk bare-footed over the hellish pavements society has created. Or, we can take a risk, just not wear our shoes, and walk over the pavements and grounds with our bare feet. We'll get wounded, we'll bleed, but I'm sure we won't die. Eventually, we'll develop cellulose, and our feet will manage walking over the unwelcoming grounds just fine.
See, we're taught from a young age that we need things, when in reality, we actually don't. Maybe, just maybe, we need someone who'll hold our hands, and walk with us until we die. However, it is not a necessity. You know this as well as I do. At the end of the day, you're alone. You'll always be alone. Forever alone. So stop lying to yourself. Stop telling yourself that you'll find that soul-mate who'll give you flowers, chocolates, and love. Because, there's no such thing. There never was. There never will be. That idea of a soulmate has been supported by depressed and miserable authors, filmakers, and artists, who wish to escape from their glum lives. Are you telling me, that you're going to put your faith into those who're lying to themselves? Into those who are escaping from their own soul-wrenching realities?
Well, here's the hard truth. Accept it or deny it. It's up to you.
You're drawn to the peculiar man who leans next to the dusty brick walls of the dim alleyway you've somehow found yourself in. He throws a smile your way, beneath his top-hat, you find mischievous and deep-set blue eyes, they're a bit lopsided, but they add to its depth and beauty. You feel as though you've known this man, standing before you with swagger and carefreeness, since the day you've taken your first breath. Your eyes are glued on him – he's staring at you, and you at him. He takes in a breath, and to your surprise he speaks to you. His voice – just as you had imagined it would be. "So," he says, "are you just gonna stare at me or what?"
Confused, you raise an eyebrow at him. He's waiting for a response, his lips are just twitched slightly upwards – he's smiling, but you know if anyone else were here they would not notice it. And then, you feel a blissful feeling rumble through your essence – you know you're special for noticing his smiles. "Well, I don't know. Why should I talk to you?" you ask.
His smile turns to an even bigger one. "Come here, kid. I missed you."
"You know me?" you splutter out, taking a few steps back in fear. "H – how?" you stammer. Is he some sort of stalker?
He chuckles and says, "I've been watching over you for years. I'm the thoughts you hear when you looking for courage. The comforting air you feel around yourself when you think you're alone. I'm the invisible blanket that warms you when you think you can't go on. I'm what cannot be seen – but you're different. Special. It's why only you can see me."
"You're – you're – that?" you ask, your question is vague but you know he'll understand.
"Yes..." his voice trails off with the wind.
You've found him.
I am of no use. Just a little clump of accidental creation, some say. We're all just nothing in the grand scale of things. Little organisms trying to find meaning in this vast ever-expanding space. We live in this little blue dot that seems so magnificent, large and ever-mysterious. We'll never know the truth – and we'll never find the answers to this little blue planet we live in. The whole universe out there is a pandora's box, waiting to be opened – but yet here we are, stuck in our little trivialities, little wars, little battles of morality – when there's so much, so much that can be, so much that will free us of the chains we adhere and purposefully cling onto.
One can say that everything has been created by chance, or one can say everything occurs out of reason – but by the end of the day, it has occurred, you are alive, and every second you breathe – every second you're alive – is a chance in a million. You could die now, maybe now, and now. But you're alive. So, you are of use – you are special – just by being alive.
Which steps must one take to reach their goals? There are so many avenues I can take in order to reach what I desire, but the problem is I don't really know what it is I yearn for. The world harbours millions of things that spark my interest, but at the same time – I am so dreadfully apathetic to everything I come across. Nothing interests me. It'll all end one day, anyway.
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