"If you believe, then take my hand, and welcome to your Neverland"
Sometimes I sit idle and watch the clouds move. Then I close my eyes and watch as my mind wanders between senseless images that emerge from the colours. And with this minds eye I shape a world that I, and only I, may gain access. This isn't Neverland where children laugh and remain young and oblivious. This isn't Neverland where the clapping of hands and the sheer force of will toward life keeps the fairie's life from fading. But one thing J.M. Barrie stands eternally correct; everyone possesses such a world of fantastic escapism. And I don't mean an existence filled with the scant 'what-ifs' regarding the numerous situations we are presented in life. Rather, it is a world where, if one closes their eyes, they have complete dominion of the First Cause, the Effects, and, if they are so able to choose, the End of this wonderful story. And I find myself wrapped in the stories of my own contrivance, comforted by the soft downy feathers of my wings and borne aloft on thrilling thermals rising from the earth. And I am immortal. I see everything in my world, this existence of joy and life and friends and fun. The sun finds my rising early and greets my face with glorious warmth. The evenings find me cloaked by a sky filled with stars and adorned with that ever so perfect, luminescent, spherical moon. But the mind is finite, and existence is finite. It can only be stretched to such limits until reality finds the crevice in the foundation and begins to erode the pillars and walls. The ending comes when you least suspect. No one can ever pick the perfect time to end this story. And you see the world in the mind slowly decay. The laughter comes in spurts. The friends leave their life-long companions. The fun dies slowly as the camp fires are extinguished by the intermittent winds and rains. The world floods and everything hides. What is left? You are left. Rather... I am left. I, the creator of this little world, this Neverland. This place of existence that is Never to be, and Never was. But I persist, Never to part from this dying world, and grasping at straws to revive the fallen. It should not end. I was the maker. It is my world. And in this world, I am eternal. And with this eternity is the procession of everything finite. A perpetual funeral; a parade of losses from genesis to apocalypse.
I'm not even sure what I just wrote. I have a tendency to just write and never think, and never look back at the words. It makes sense when I read it, but only insofar as something I wrote. Perhaps someone else was meant to make sense of it, and maybe they will do something.
Take Care. Be Safe. Enjoy Life. Amitofo.
I'm not even sure what I just wrote. I have a tendency to just write and never think, and never look back at the words. It makes sense when I read it, but only insofar as something I wrote. Perhaps someone else was meant to make sense of it, and maybe they will do something.
Take Care. Be Safe. Enjoy Life. Amitofo.