Eyes open. My brain makes the whirling sound a computer makes when it's compensating for the heat during processing. I don't particularly like being awake.
But the fact is, I love being awake. I love it when I see with my own eyes and hear with my own ears. When I touch something with my hands, an electrical shock sends my brain a message, "this is real." Time is short. Life is measured in time. How old are you? You still don't have a job? When are you going to get married? Life is short. Time keeps running. No time for sleep.
Move! There are thing to be done! You can't sleep till the deadline in 3 days! Sleep is for the weak. 48 hours in, your eyes, they droop. Your mind slips. The alluring darkness that seduces you each time you blink, gets longer as your eyelids take another second before opening again.
I love sleep. I dream. I see visions of grandeur, of fantasy, and of love that cannot be real. The sands on the beach dig into my heels as I press them further in, hoping to root myself in this realm. But Time, you terrible beast, you turn the gentle waves into raging fires, turn the sands into maggots, and turn the sun into a black hole.
Work. I hate it. But after that 48th hour, when you're heart beats like a smithy's hammer and you gasp for air like a man on the moon and when your legs give no strength as if Atlas has passed you his globe, it is a feeling of ecstasy. The pain, the wonderful fulfillment of Time. I have outdone you once again, vile fiend! I have broken your code. I live and I tell a tale of my suffering with glee. A boast. My pride swells as the fact that I have sacrificed mind and body for a moment of satisfaction.
Time, my black-hearted foe. you rob me of what is rightfully mine, you make me crawl and beg and weep for it. You take from me satisfaction.
Time, my black-hearted foe. you rob me of what is rightfully mine, you make me crawl and beg and weep for it. You take from me satisfaction.
Time, my sweet friend, you send me on ventures that one cannot walk without a kick off a cliff. You send me hurling down into darkness, despair so that I can climb up the other side and keep moving. Time could build me a bridge, but what's the point of that? Bridges will burn, they will snap and they will rot.
I'm awake, eyes closed, deep breathing. I tell you, I'm awake. I'm just resting my eyes. See those footprints behind me, that is where I have come from, you can see them cross the horizon.
Why do I cross this desert? I hear of a land flowing with milk and honey on the other side. It's better than this desert.
No seriously, I'm awake. Stop poking me. I'm not dead.
that was deep and i loved it, until the last line which i didnt get
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