I am You, but You are Not
The beauty in life lies in the fact that there are no certainties. There is no absolute truth, no real answers, no definite reasons, no perfect equations. Nothing is for certain. Life is arbitrary and constantly changing, evolving, and spinning in unpredictable cycles. Everything we do can be explained by science and mathematical equations, no doubt. But at the same time they are not definite. It is not final. It is only an estimate. It is only the best possible approximation of perceived truths.
I suppose that's why I find art so intriguing. There is no correct interpretation. There is no true perceptions. There is no final answer. There is always a question. It can always be this, that or it can be nothing at all. And it can be everything at the same time. Art, in the most general sense of the word, is so multi-layered. There is so much texture, movement, meaning, story, questions. There's always a question mark.
That is why art is so beautiful. That is why life is so beautiful. Because we are always left guessing. Always wondering. Why, what, who, when, where.
What is real, what is not.
What is right, what is wrong.
Where are you now.
Where will you be in the future.
Who were you yesterday.
Who are you today, now, at this moment.
Who will you be tomorrow.
Who will you be in the future.
Who am I today, now, at this moment?
I am a pensive wanderer. I am a sinner. I am a fake, a lie, a shadow wearing a mask. I am an overjoyed, confused, meandering self-righteous moonstruck boy. I am a normal person. I am a reader, of random words, of moonsongs, of strangers. I am a writer of complete, utter nonsense. I am a pretentious elitist bastard. I am concerned son. I am a terrible father to my cats. I am a lurker, a stalker, a voyeurist. I am a happy person. I am a sad person. I am a pseudo protagonist in a make believe world.
I am a hollow heart. I am the blood that runs through my veins. I am the vibrating particles in this tired body. I am the fingers typing on this keyboard. I am the amber at the end of my burning ciggarette. I am the smoke that chokes this troubled room.
I am someone. And maybe, just maybe, we'll meet again in another lifetime.
(Don't forget to say hello, because I won't)
