A Little Something More
Why are we even here? Why do people constantly look at us and make us wonder that very important question? Why is it that their eyes glare at me with a disapproving look when I walk down the street with my head on straight? Shouldn’t we be happy with who we are? I don’t know a lot, but I’m going to guess that there’s another reason behind a person’s wondering.
The curiosity of humans intrigues many of us; probably not as much as me, however. It’s like I’m a psychologist that never got a degree. I’m a twenty-seven year old trapped in a philosopher’s mind, and its quiet interesting, really. You see, I didn’t quite start off as such a brilliant mind. Rather, I started as an ordinary man with no literal intentions.
I firmly stood by the idea that there is no such thing as fate. There is no such thing as true love. They are both simple-yet mind boggling-imaginations of one’s pathetic awareness. It’s sad to finally realize that this world we thought we knew isn’t what we knew at all. Love and fate are magic, and the last I checked, magic was a white rabbit popping out of a black top hat. It just doesn’t occur on its own; there must be something behind it. This, I suppose, proves the magic was fake all along.
I don’t know how or who thought up the majestic fantasy of love and fate. They are remarkably stupid. Not in the “Wow you’re stupid” way, but rather the complete idiocy of one’s intelligence. I’m thankful for the people who prove me wrong, but when it comes to this, I’m pretty tenacious. It would take so much for me to change my mind on this hypothesis, I’m almost quite sure it’s completely impossible. It would be like an acrid lemon, on a winter’s morning, laying on the freshly wiped kitchen countertop, with the snow outside the window blurring the constant vision. It would take the hot chocolate warming in the microwave, when I’d suddenly notice a snowflake that seemed to be misplaced. Lo and behold, the snowflake would be lying right on my glove. It would be like I had a complete scientific breakthrough, like finding a twin for that snowflake. Impossible.