Moths

I casually kick the door, but an unobserved screen door replies louder than anticipated. I balance the pizza on the palm of my hand and reach for handle with the other. I swing open the door and hold it with my foot. I give the real door three crisp knocks. When I remove my foot, the screen door swings back, making another crashing sound.

As I wait, I stare at the moths bouncing off the round, buzzing light. Moths aren’t exactly the smartest beings on Earth, are they? They don’t even notice all the other moth bodies clumped in the bottom of the light fixture, all the moths that actually managed to get in; what evolutionary advantage possibly came by instinctively running into bright things? I suppose they would be good at getting out of tunnels: I suppose.

I look back to the door and perform the knocking maneuver on it again. What’s taking so long? Maybe this is a prank call; the porch light is on, though: I don’t know. I check a window, but all the lights are off; all I can see is my reflection: I need a haircut. It’ probably a good thing, though, if needing a haircut is the only thing I can complain about when it comes to my looks; The hair isn’t really bad looking itself either: I’m just bad at remembering to wash underneath my bangs; my forehead gets oily and it’s a prime acne spot; the hair also hides it, though, so it’s not that bad, I guess; but it’s still gross.

Heavy, frustrated air forces itself from me. This is taking way too long: I’m leaving. I start to walk down the stairs, but jump when I hear the scream of a woman from inside the house. Why did I jump? That wasn’t scary; it was surprising, but not scary. I walk back up the steps and knock on the door, telling myself this is their last chance to answer. “Hello?” I ask the door.

Existence

It occurred to me that all existence is comprised of layers of power. And each layer will continue within the layer above it, until that higher layer has died.

Even I, a human being, contain cells that die and replenish, only because I am alive. Similarly, I only exist because the Earth still breaths. The Earth can only breathe because the Sun has not yet imploded upon itself. The Stars exist because our Galaxy hasn't pulled in upon itself yet. And the systems and Galaxies and so on all remain still because the whole Universe has not reached its peak, and returned to its massive point.

A Little Philosophy

A lot of people think that life is a miraculous event that is a rare phenomenon, and quite a few believe that it is created by a powerful, divine being. I will agree that it is rare, but at the same time, it’s bound to happen. When you pick a card from a deck, there is a 1 in 52 chance that you will get the ace of spades. But if you draw a card enough times, eventually it will be the ace of spades. Well, life has an even smaller chance; the necessary elements on an adequately sized rock being the correct distance from the right caliber heat source… It’s just not something you come across every day. But when you consider how many rocks there are in the universe, at least one of them is bound to be the ace of spades. (In fact, there’s enough to pull the ace of spades quite a few times.) It is a very, very rare chance that is certain to happen.

Chewed Gum

Ugh, what was that?
Something isn't quite flat.
Squishy against my knee,
Just beneath the table.
I have no doubt what it could be:
A piece of gum with no label.

It really is disgusting.
My job isn't cleaning.
I'm not taking care of it,
I might catch ill.
I just came to sit
And get my fill.

It's only rubber though,
Any germs would be now through, -
Or at least, so I hear.
Heck, I could eat this gum!
Why would I hold fear
Of a little thing so dumb?

But on second thought, even so, -
That's pretty far to go.
What would I gain?:
"A treat before the burger joint"?
Even without the pain,
There's not much point.

Post-Inspiring

It's odd how something can make you so happy that it isn't until it's gone that it inspires you. You become so blissfully blind, that nothing else means anything; but then once it's gone, it's everything.

It seems as though the only thing of importance and beauty is the subject of your desire. There is nothing that compares to it: No images, no sounds, no order of words, nothing that comes close.

Because there is nothing to portray love, it is the purest emotion. "Love" hardly means anything, it does not provide any relevant sensation. Yet the feeling it represents has overwhelming power.

Kissing, touching, sex: These things are all wanted because of what they represent. But not everyone truly understands it. Sometimes people lust for these things, but that is a fool's love; a fake emotion. People feel lust because they want what sex represents; for a moment, they believe they are in love.

But lust can only describe love as well as pictures or words. No: Love is so much bigger, there is beauty to be recognized that can only be felt from genuineness.

When genuine love is realized, it's representatives develop inherent beauty. It is to be observed and savored. It cannot be chewed, it simply happens. Love is self perpetuating, self creating. It cannot be stopped, analyzed, or imitated.

When your love is there, but you've nothing to spend it on, it still cannot be stopped. An outlet is needed. You can draw, you can write, you can sing, but you know it isn't what you want.

What you want is your lover. You need that person; they are the only thing that will quell you. The only thing you need. Your love target.