THE STORIES WE TELL

Is this a story?

Is this a confession?

Or is this something much more common, something called life?

Is it your life?

Is it mine?

Your life is nothing like mine and so it stands to reason that my life be nothing like yours. In this case life is uncommon, all of us have it but not all of us lead it the same way.

Your life is simple.

Your life is complicated.

Your life is an intricate web of simplicity and complications and so is mine.

I feel confused all the time.

Do you?

It sure as hell doesn’t seem that way. You are so sure of yourself all the time. You don’t seem to break a sweat going through life while I could drown in buckets of mine, metaphorically that is.

Sometimes though drowning sounds like a great idea. Oh how I sometimes am tempted to drown myself in hopelessness and self pity and let the world take its course and guide me.

Will I even acknowledge the directions that life gives me?

Have I ever?

I would not be in this position if I had.

Do you?

Acknowledge the directions, that is. Is this the reason for your success, your contentment?

But then again I could appear the same to your uncomprehending eyes. We may look alike but inside none of us are the same.

How can we be? I didn’t get the gifts on your birthday, now did I, unless of course we were born on the same day, which is not all that unlikely?

What I mean is that you and I couldn’t possibly have had all the same experiences in life?

Have you ever wondered how some people manage to disappear, to hide from the harsh realities of life while others are left behind to pay their dues?

Do you wonder what it would feel like to disappear? You could leave everything behind and move to somewhere far away, somewhere where nobody knows you. You could be anyone. But would you ever be the same again having left behind everything you hated and loved? But then again you can never really leave all that behind, for they will always exist in the tendrils of your thoughts, floating inside your head and many times even in the foremost parts of your indulgent brain.

How do we manage to put random words which would mean nothing on their own into something so beautiful? It’s like creating order out of chaos.

Even after all my ramblings the most important question still stands- Do you wonder?

Do you question all there is and all there will be? Do you wreck your brains trying to figure out something which has existed for as long as you can remember but no longer makes any sense. You must! You must question everything for without questions there would be no answers. There would be no poets, writers, singers, dancers, artists, scientists and even politicians. There would be no creation for there would be nothing left to create.

THE WONDER

I wonder if she wonders about me wondering about her wondering about me wondering about her.