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1:33 PM

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Do you ever wonder that if, in the grand scheme of things, your existence in this world truly matters?

I feel like I live in a constant chain reaction that never truly sparks.

Perhaps while I’m walking I could bump that person on the street; intentionally – because they were in my way and I simply do not care about them enough to wonder what their reaction would be. Anyway, it’s not like I would see them again, it’s not like I hold any empathy for them at all. Your shoulder briskly brushes against theirs, the cloth on cloth meshes around, its fiber making a soft sound. Maybe they turn around and say something, you realize that was wrong — that… oh. They actually care enough that someone who doesn’t matter to them ‘accidentally’ shoved them aside in a direction that they did not wish to go. Or perhaps, what if they just continue walking like nothing happened? Does their mind reflect on that day, and think about how that was rude and that they should have said something? Do they simply forget you and your actions because in truth, they are nothing?

When I go to the beach, my fear of the water prevents me from enjoying the ocean too much. I do love looking at it from afar; the relaxation and serene calm that overtakes me just when I can hear the crashing waves is enough to forgive the fear. That doesn’t stop me from shaking off the sand that seems to get everywhere, to curse the annoyance that it brings – it truly is such a nuisance. Despite all this, I still walk. The scorching sun had never really done me any favors, but I’ll let it off since it only seems to make my skin reflect its light more. The water is approaching, so I walk.

It’s unavoidable, but sometimes the reality truly does hit you hard. The crystalline isn’t as blue as you imagined it to be; are any of them actually still pure? A crowd of people in the distance lets the high tide wash away what they’ve left — it’s not like you can approach them or do anything, it’s just that. The ocean is more vulnerable than you are, no matter how much it gives. As powerless as you feel, you still could have done something, you could have changed — could you really?

Think of every moment, the moments wherein you feigned innocence just so that someone else could be let off, thinking of their own selves as right. You hear them speak of themselves, it’s so high and mighty; as if their mind was esemplastic, so utterly unified that no one else can comprehend its greatness. But, you know they’re wrong. Your mind is still listing down reasons, a fabricated list that probably won’t find its way into your memories, but what matters is that at this very moment, it stands. Does it really gain you any benefit, is it really the right thing to do? It’s counteractive, no one ends up winning in this situation. You let the child spout of false facts, they forever go along, so proud of themselves, high and mighty; as you would have said — because they think it’s; right. You let them wander in their own right. You struggle with the memory, it really did stick in your mind no matter how absurd and forgettable you thought it was, primarily on the fact that it was unbelievable in its own right. Tell me, does it really hurt to let someone know that they aren’t as grandiose as they think they are? If they take offense — let them take offense. Their hearts don’t value knowledge over confidence, superiority at its core, the desire to be kingly is the only thing that reigns within them; so why should it matter, how would it matter?

For all I know, this is why I walk the earth with such a brash mind — I am unforgiving, tired of the mindgames that the world has to offer. Earth seems so helicoptered nowadays. Like every soul is attached to strings, puppeteered by someone who only wants fake smiles and hugs, padded with a little more fire than what the warmth asks for. There’s only one thing I ask for: if this is the world that you envision; then continue living it without regretting anything. Live with the consequences of over-confident souls. The world may lack truth, but you have your happiness. It’s fake, but it’s still a smile.

Though the world is not like that. It’s cruel, unforgiving. In all honesty; I find myself in more sad moments than happy — but that doesn’t really matter when you lose the ability to feel altogether. No matter how you look it, it’s an unfair game, a cruel jest of statistics leaning in misery’s favor. What use is there in looking forwards to the highs when they barely rise up? As much as it seems ideal to live in a world of utter euphoria, such a world would never approach.

In the lone perspective of my fifteen year old eyes, I standstill on my stance of being brash and unrelenting; the world is at times, too sheltered, and at other times, bombarded with things that it does not deserve. Akin to how good people live such harsh lives and others flow smoothly, with things that they don’t deserve, it’s just how the world is. Unravel the world, one step at a time, while you are living — while your hollow walking corpse can still make even the smallest of impact on what lies around. Your shoes will mark their territory on the concrete, the dirt will cease and leave its mark on the aging ground. It will never truly leave, but no one else would ever glance at it — though that’s what matters, after all. In all of eternity, within all of time’s possibilities, at the very tick of the clock you left your mark on the ground. Forgotten indeed, but what matters is that you did it.

Isn’t that what heaven is, in its entirety? Ethereal, an unwinding of your shell, every second in front of you — it’s now on a filmreel, like a timeline of your existence. How shallow are human lives when we can be bound to photos, to words and sayings, to cry and laugh at the emotions that are bounded to each frame; for our own amusement — for our own reflection before we are sentenced to eternal respite.

Bound together by chains, susceptible to the toll of the wind, the rain, and most importantly — the ticking of time. The memories you are linked in, they are forgettable. Like the chains that they are weaved together in-between, crossroads in the shots you were a passerby in, they will rust, they will lose its color, its shade. Your mother is going to forget what shade of yellow your skin reminded her of, your father is going to forget the brown you dyed your hair in the summer before they found you. Your mind, its personality, perhaps it settles in for a flashback, nostalgic of the person that you were, the person that never really mattered to whoever you drift by. If they do remember you, if they did hold some semblance of significance in your life — you’ll be in their memories a lot more. They too, will fade. One day, they’re going to need to come across a picture of you to remember what the color of your eyes were, if your hair touched the middle of your back or parted itself at the upper of your shoulders on the day that you died.

In the grand scheme of things, your existence is a nuisance to others — a small blessing to some. You never really knew much people in your life, you resented a lot of them, you never learned what happened in the seventh-to-last chapter in the book you were reading. You greeted your friend on their birthday, for some reason you bothered to ask others what they thought of, “it’s too late,” they said, but there’s no such thing as too late for you. Even if it was weird, or unusual, you did — two days late. They still thanked you a few days later, you wonder if they even bothered to read the message or just sent the same thing to everyone in one go. There is no doubt that you are the last option, the one that is there just for the sake of it. You don’t really bother to pop in with your group of friends, you have other people that are much more dear to your heart, but sometimes — you even wonder if your presence mattered to them. Although you must admit, you’re a good topic for them to talk about when they want to mimic yourself, or when they decide to crush the words that you’ve said. It’s interesting to say the least, you used to wait for their messages but now you forget to reply to them. They never cross your mind.

The cloth transforms itself into a familiar feeling, you remember the same glance as you remained quiet. You wish you locked skin much harder. Recall the moment the ocean swept away the person you loved, remember the way we know less about it than we know about the galaxies. You fear it for a reason, you should have said something to them — the sudden confrontation would have made something in their shallow minds click. Fear is a familiar word to you, and along with that is the accompaniment of loneliness. Together, they seem to play a brilliant harmony that forever tugs at your veins, the beating is much more clear when you realize that it’s going to stop soon. You’re not scared of speaking up, you are brash for a reason.

They’re going to remember you for the cold, soulless person you are. Never happy, but you are. Never loved, but you know you are; as strange as it is to you as well. Never remembered, that’s okay. Your words are forever going to be forgotten, your presence just a collection of 1s and 0s left for someone out there to find, the last people would remember of you are greetings on the day you died, each year less and less seem to remember.

Your chain link sparked, a bang at the end when everyone rushed in to preach about the good person you are. You know those are lies. It’s okay, everything is going to fade, the links will rust, the memories will dissipate. Sometimes, you can hear the ocean collapse into the grains of sand before picking itself back up and feeling the texture of the tiny pills once more. You wish that it was as blue as the flowers they left for you.

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