Slow to learn myself frantically living as multitudes. I finally see more than one of myselves, feelings are disconnected, thoughts are miscommunicated, as though my souls will never fail to misplace themselves somewhere sometimes. Of course I have only one body walking across the real streets seeing real buildings talking to real lives but who knows is it real that I exist here now and then. Souls will all be gone one day, they lived, they never live. But we are all chains of stories, from the ancient to present, and even to the unseen future. Maybe we never ever live as one, but always inheriting and passing on as part of stream of a life line. This is comforting, for the burdens I thought I have to bear not living a life interesting enough, not being a person good enough are now lifted off. How small we all are, when we see ourselves at the end of our lives.
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Met a Friend, sharing narratives over meals, expressing selves over narratives, seeking acceptance over expressed selves. Now back in my room, regretted the narratives and the expressed selves. And now I need to recharge and rebuild that utopia I usually visit when I need too. It’s collapsing in the midst of mindless mundane life. I can’t bear the days without a place of my own. Wishfully one day, I don’t visit the utopia. I live in it.
