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Being
Chapter One:
I find myself, once again and again, outside gazing upon the stars that twinkle complimenting the void that they float in and beaming happily in the insurmountable darkness that swallows them. And like them, I too am swallowed, not by darkness or the nothing that lingers outside but the abundance of life that surrounds me, those who live like me. I find myself once again appreciating the small beauty that are the stars and realizing this, that I am relatively relateable in the sense of tinyness. That I am absurbly small and somewhat insignificant as well. And like them I am not exactly needed nor am I ever wanted yet I am nice to look at or acknowledge by few people who appreciate us both alike.
This is what Peter had thought to himself upon the roof of his house. His feet dangling like flags flapping in the wind. While he lazily slumped over he eagerly gazed up at the constellations reminiscing in events of what had and what was. He was at peace, even though this thought hadn't yet extinguished from his head. There was, however no dark luminescent or encouragement, it was only a thought. As dark as they were nothing had came from them. Like the stars, the pebbles, and all other things lesser in size he was okay with this. Peter was quite happy with this realization because he was okay with what he was and had and couldn't be nor couldn't have.
My desires in this world are yet to be satiated and the possibility of them starving to death does no harm unto my concious. Not that I am okay with failing but that I am okay with not having. That I may lack something that I had longed for before and none of which leaves me dreadful, Peter had thought. With that last remaing thought Peter's mother had called him that dinner was ready. He gave the stars and the world that filled his eyes one last nightly glance and went off to continue his life.
© Donovan Robertson
I find myself, once again and again, outside gazing upon the stars that twinkle complimenting the void that they float in and beaming happily in the insurmountable darkness that swallows them. And like them, I too am swallowed, not by darkness or the nothing that lingers outside but the abundance of life that surrounds me, those who live like me. I find myself once again appreciating the small beauty that are the stars and realizing this, that I am relatively relateable in the sense of tinyness. That I am absurbly small and somewhat insignificant as well. And like them I am not exactly needed nor am I ever wanted yet I am nice to look at or acknowledge by few people who appreciate us both alike.
This is what Peter had thought to himself upon the roof of his house. His feet dangling like flags flapping in the wind. While he lazily slumped over he eagerly gazed up at the constellations reminiscing in events of what had and what was. He was at peace, even though this thought hadn't yet extinguished from his head. There was, however no dark luminescent or encouragement, it was only a thought. As dark as they were nothing had came from them. Like the stars, the pebbles, and all other things lesser in size he was okay with this. Peter was quite happy with this realization because he was okay with what he was and had and couldn't be nor couldn't have.
My desires in this world are yet to be satiated and the possibility of them starving to death does no harm unto my concious. Not that I am okay with failing but that I am okay with not having. That I may lack something that I had longed for before and none of which leaves me dreadful, Peter had thought. With that last remaing thought Peter's mother had called him that dinner was ready. He gave the stars and the world that filled his eyes one last nightly glance and went off to continue his life.
© Donovan Robertson
