And we thought existence to be only a plenum of being,
But what’s that?
We’re painfully aware of nothingness.
First it was me.
And then us.
And now, through devices of my own creation, but not intention,
Our existence was suspended.
It’s most certainly true,
That bad faith has taken control, and so passively,
Of most of us.
But I keep urging and pleading,
Open your eyes.
This bad faith lives behind closed eyes and silent voices,
Waiting and dulling our extremities,
Since pain seems to be associated with the outside.
Oh, this heaviest weight keeps pushing our eyes closed, you argue.
Laugh out loud, I don’t think you quite get it, dears.
This life, and all that is to me, has been willed and accepted, by me.
I am so sorry that I’ll never explain my motives. I’ll never find the words to describe why I keep heading down this path, that seems to cut others off after much too short an accompaniment. I suppose it is a curse, for you, of mine, that I forget what it’s like, to not be me. Fear not, though, because it seems my duty now is to know, and so it can be assured that I will rise above this predetermined facticity, and maybe, appear a bit more human.