I was young once and hopeful. I believed in big things like God, order, reason, love, progress, knowledge, truth, justice, science. I thought these things could somehow save me from my fate. I dreamed and believed in the future. I prayed. I looked for my purpose. I assumed I had one, as do so many others. I looked for my self, thinking this could offer some kind of salvation.
But something kept eating at me. I found a lover. We cared for each other, at the same time warping each other. We couldn’t help it, we were part of the eternal warp. We had children and warped them, and now must grieve and suffer the guilt of it because it is too late to do anything about it. So often, it is too late to take care of the things that hit you most in life.
Life has been a letdown. Truths have come rushing in, like a series of blows from a mad assailant. There is no god, no heaven, no enchantment, no magic. All good things pass, each one a thorn ripped from the skin, only to be replaced immediately by another. The good things are never sustained. But the pain and fear are. We will see people we love die before us and then face our own deaths without the assurance of eternal bliss or, for that matter, that there was any point to our existence or the existence of those we love.
Hard truths. There is little satisfaction in it, but I’ll take truths over illusion.