Life is rather- mystifying.
One minute, you're certain you've figured out what direction the next few minutes is headed,
but in those next minutes,
you're in the back seat of a car
religiously bopping off a stranger you'll never meet again,
your hands treating every bit of him like the holy grail you only get a single feel of,
whilst he holds on to your head,
setting a pace.
So from the outside,
you're like a bottle in the ocean,
sloppily bobbing up and down,
and he's wind,
moving you where he wishes.
But on the inside,
you're water,
you're wind,
you're waves,
taking him wheresoever he wishes to go,
bringing him closer and closer to a peak.
And he's the bottle,
hoping the waves are strong enough to bring him home,
praying that when it crashes,
the water is gentle enough to cleanse him.
The next minute, you're lying with your head on a bare torso,
your legs crossed against the back window,
talking softly about routines and friends,
engraved necklaces and christening cars,
keepsakes and tattoos.
In a few minutes, you'll be searching for a missing shoe,
lodged in the corner of the front seat.
If life comes at you fast,
and if perhaps all we are, are bottles in the ocean,
then maybe we should live for the thrill of it all.
Maybe we should travel with a purpose,
whilst giving room for adventitious peaks and falls.
I've watched time slip away.
I've watched the sun sweep through the sky in an arc as I lay in the same position,
saddened by my incapability to be captain of my own fate.
I've watched relationships die at the break of dawn,
in the basement of a stranger's home.
Ease your grip on the wheel.
I've watched the light at the end of the tunnel hit the eyes with its hopeful glow,
promising, like a second chance,
buoyant, as a ship in calm waters.
And I've watched that light leave the eyes in an instant,
a kind of blackout you alone observes,
in a falsely lit world.
Is there still serendipity?
I've watched a girl who thought she was headed to bed end up in a parking lot.
And amidst rumpled clothes lying carelessly in the dark,
and sweat glistening bodies on a summer night,
J Hus playing on the radio,
I've watched her listen to a stranger and try to make sense of the world.
I've seen to-do lists with boxes that never got ticked,
and messages in glass bottles that bobbed and bobbed,
through crests and troughs,
but never made shore.
I've seen,
and hence by conviction,
I agree life truly imitates art.
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