It is a thing
No, not a thing,
Say, an experience,
No, more of,
a state of being.
Yes, a state of being.
A being...
in the moment, is it?
of being happy, perhaps?
A being of noble meaning?
What is this thing
that is not a thing?
When it comes,
it feels so familiar.
Yet, it's always something new
when it's felt.
Something fresh and very unpopular.
This thing, like a memory -
reminisced even before it happened -
Has the exact vividness as reality,
and has as much clarity as history.
What is this thing
that is not a thing?
An experience?
Like the smell of cum on a rainy June afternoon,
Like that night of bare nakedness shared with my oldest friends,
basking in the joyous cackles of insulting comedy.
This thing that is not a thing is an experience -
so real - like life's tragedy.
As real as the pain of that time when,
I got my heart broken really bad.
The breathlessness, the pain, the bleakness of it all.
How now, remembering it, I feel not the pain,
but the melancholia of knowing it.
That by knowing it, it seems that,
there is no escaping it.
As if it has become a
...state of being.
A being, in a moment -
so exact, so divine.
Like the way the sun cast shadows on my lover's face on a summer sunset
The way I see the sun slowly setting down through his sunglasses,
creating shadows behind the tint when he blinks. The way he blinks -
so cute and boyish.
Perhaps,
This seeing through,
These mirrors around us,
These reflections of lights and shadows,
Collectively, is what creates what we know - at any given moment -
as our state of being.
Perhaps, it's the combined narratives of all my pains and joys
- real and imagined.
Maybe, it is all of our past and present - woven in the threads of our
hopes, desires, fears, passions,
spites, happiness, anger, love, meaning -
creating this colorful quilt of our confused existence.
Ah, confused existence.
Finally! A riddle solved.
Meanwhile, what still riddles me though,
is how some people don't seem to be as confused as I am?
They seem to have it figured out.
It's as if nobody wants to talk about their confusions anymore.
As if growing up means finding the answers.
As if age has wisened us
and that means,
our own undoing,
our very unbecoming.
I don't like this kind of people.
But, I am this people.
Ah, the case of you and me.
There goes another riddle.