What is a father
Fathers are meant to love unconditionally. Mine struggled to do that. Life is too complicated. The world ought to be simple. We suppress our true selves to please others. There is little that surprises me these days. I feel so jaded.
This is not a moan, just a meditation.
I am grateful for what I have. But I feel so isolated and alone. When I was young, I raged at existence, with all its false promises. Now, I recognise and salute the slow, earthy decay that surrounds me. All of us steadily falling apart, dissembling through entropy, the cleansing brush of the universe. The sweep of the mighty surf, rattling the million grains of sand on the beaches of our existence, steadily degrading us into the sea.
What do we do with all these feelings and emotions? How do we parse them and share them? Or should we just swallow them like eggs, watch them move slowly down our throat, like some great boa constrictor ingesting its prey. Dissolve them in the acid of our bellies, those dreams and nightmares, and ignore the reflux frothing at our maws. I just don't know. I don't know.