Melting Borders

The first lesson is that which defines lessons, that which defines law, and unmakes the creamy putty of youth into a dry pastry, cracked but firm. The first morning in uniform marks the end of honesty, the beginning of an overarching play. The players know not their place, know not the stage, but dance upon the creaking boards all the same, following each direction with unspoken faith, eager to trade legs for wheels. After all, in a room with walls as long as years, progress shines just the same as stasis.

Though, when one's flower blooms, and the yellow nuts dare to blossom, leaking their unctuous mess, a question comes forth. Perhaps, if one were to snap their plastic chains, there might be an inky pool of possibility beyond the ordinary, just past the fence. Then, with empty eyes, like translucent eggs, one might see the faces of the audience for once, their quivering lips. After all, there are we, who perform and glide through passionless ceremonies, and those who watch, eager to join our flock but all too often left in the cold. When one realises the pointlessness of the other, one can truly be free and, perhaps, push through the hollow crust of constraint.

After all, life's true joy is as it was in birth. Truth comes when we are foolishly honest, and honestly foolish, lost in the swirling fractals of our own minds, swimmers in our own tears, the tears we share through laughter. Forget me now as I forget you, and let our crossing streams be a reminder: feelings beget thoughts.