Ours is a story of blinking cursors and tapping keys. Of endless conversations and muted laughs.Of wistful glances and wasted chances. Of mindless pinnacles and hateful crescendos. Our story is no different than theirs. For we have no name, no promises, no duty. We live in this moment gloriously and die. This immediacy, this transience is our story
Of loneliness and empty rooms. Of vague images and faded thoughts. It has no form. But it shapes everything. Ours is a story of flowing emotions. In its own exuberance, we float through a thousand lives. Merge our dreams and purge our guilt. Of shared secrets and frozen dreams. Our mirage has not limits. This seamlessness is our story.
Ours is a story of pointless dabbling. We drown effortlessly in mindless tedium. We saunter through the inane, skulk through the asinine. In a waiting unwritten, unread email. In an unopened chat window. We breathe in incessant passivity. This velleity is our story
If you haven’t read.. the part I is here