20
Twenty years go by and your life is now what? A nightmare? A lullaby? A wild dance of which no one walks away from the same as they entered? Twenty years. I was ten then; a child of my time, even with the decade as most of my friends are now. We all turn equally as time turns. Children of the millennium, we are. I remember how everyone talked of the world ending in 2000, and feeling cheated about it. I was pissed that the world was going to end before I got a chance to see it, to experience it. At that age I was no more than a sapling compared to the overgrown willow I am now, reaching my branches back into my roots, digging for some meaning to the past. Only, there is no past, only today matters. Each of these consecutive occurrences had no individual meaning, but put them on a linear path and they make sense. Time makes sense. There is no rewind only a slow and inevitable push to tomorrow. The sun shines, rain falls, and everyone shits and eats and puts their lives on pages for the world to see. Are we really so self-involved? Does it make any difference if no one knows your next move? I wonder if some people can survive knowing that no one else knows about their thoughts and actions. What if you lived like me? What if you spent each day as if there was not another soul on earth who could possibly understand the goings on inside the bone and flesh that encase your energy?
Logic is meaningless. Chaos is eternal and we’re all rotting inside these shells of humanity and social mores. Why care when nothing really matters anyway? One day, eons from now, no one will know about you and the universe will simply implode upon itself only to explode, and it will all start over again. How will you begin your life again? Is this one an improvement form the last? Questions, questions. Twenty years go by. Twenty million years go by and life is what?