rainy summer day thoughts

this world wasnt made for us, and some day humans as a species will disappear. and the forests will grow back and forget what we did to them. and time will go on. yet somehow this process does not scare me, i find it comforting in a cruel and funny way. i am but one part of a larger cosmos. an assemblage of stardust and small desires and romances and fears that somehow has the opportunity, if only for a brief moment, exist among all things. maybe it is a divine torture that i was born, the odds for the circumstances of one's existence to be as such is so astronomically large that it seems like only some diety could have arranged it. often i pondered "is this opportunity to exist in the world as such a curse or a blesseing?" yet now the question seems irrelevant. as i write this a squashed a bug, as it got in the way of my spelling and seemed insignificant enough to do without losing sleep over. yet thinking now, what are we to the universe in that case? but bugs, no, mere molecules to something greater. when you compare your worth to the cosmos everything seems arbitrary and out of place, for in eternity there are no exceptions. yet there is comfort in this. someday i will lay down and die flowers will grow from the grave, i only wish to live a life worthy of fertilizing them.

edgy? maybe. poetics waxed from a kid who can barely write their own name legible enough for people to read it articulating the universe. yet i am here so i might as well. what else is there to do on a rainy summer day than to spin ones blood into digital ink?

sometimes i think these thoughts are meaningless because others have them. despair is common yet is so internalized that it is interwoven with personality. suffering is a personality trait, one that we all share. my thoughts are important even if they are common, maybe i can articulate them in a unique way. i suppose thats how i keep myself from being narcissistic.

ever still the rain pours on and time flows on and the river flows on yet i stay here, paralyzed by poesis, struggling to make sense of things that dont have meaning. maybe its the search to find something valuable that makes it so, a self fulfilling prophecy alchemized from curiosity and loneliness. i enjoy thinking, but maybe living is more important. but what is there to live for on a rainy summers day? living for another day i suppose. one where i can smell the flowers as they bloom and cry with them, not for them.

goodbye for now