you do not exist forever

When a flower blooms and as its petals fall, away from me, you go. Away from her, she goes. The flower shimmers with the iridescent hue of life and of time. But what does it mean when the flower wilts? As its petals fall, inevitably, it will end. The flower will be no longer. Yet, what can the flower perceive? Will the flower, in its new existence, see time the same? Or, will it see time no more? Or, will it see something greater than the force which binds us to life, which binds us to death? When a flower blooms and as its petals fall, away from me, you go. Away from her, she goes. stay good.

Sometimes I feel that my worth is that of a fly on a windowsill, one that you squashed and told yourself that you were going to clean, but never got to doing, because you tell yourself that's gross. Sometimes I feel that my worth is even smaller than that.  It's true, though. If you think about it, how vast our universe is, how we are but a speck of a speck, we are nothing. If you think about it, how vast our universe is, how we are a part of it, we are everything.  What do you perceive? How do you define identity? What do you think I am? Am I you? Aren't we all connected in some way?  What do you think? Sometimes I think it's better not to think at all. stay good.

...(friend, 2023) I wouldn't call it sad. More so, it's the ramblings of a tired teenager. So, here's  this weird stuff I wrote at, like, 11 at night, instead of doing my homework: Being invisible Is a gift, Is a talent, Is a skill, And Is all I want. I used to be invisible. I hated it. I did everything in my power so that I could be seen. I hated that even more. Being invisible is something I had taken for granted. Being invisible meant I could take time for myself. Being invisible had let me think about me and figure me out. Being invisible allowed me to breathe. But, Now that I’m seen, Everything hurts a little more. Now that I’m seen, Everything feels a little worse. I think it’s my fault. I think I don’t think enough. I think I think too much. I think it’s because I’m too sensitive. I think I care too much. I think I don’t care enough. I think it’s my fault. If I got to be invisible again, I would not speak to you. I would not speak to her. Do you think I could handl...