Most of the times, our whole lives are shaped by mere singularities in space and time. One moment, and then another, and another one, until their accumulation sums up to what we live and, ultimately, our own existence. This moment might seem simple and irrelevant, so fleeting and yet so encompassing, that we have no choice but to both relish in it and release.

We learn to lose ourselves in the in betweens and sometimes we lose track of counting how many quality moments have gone by — and how many have not. Lovers, mainly the inglorious ones, are usually the primary cause we go through sudden bursts of realization about who we are, as if every answer we are after downfall is able to blossom in us. But then something happens and the moment eluded in its own company and we are abruptly pulled away from it.

Life consists of these moments as well. These little moments when we are awakened for a bit. Life can get fickle. It can cast mystery upon us and frequently it has a sick sense of humor. When we dare to laugh at the confusion, at our mishaps and failures, when we dare to count our endless heartbroken endeavors to make our heart burst a little longer that is the point we realize that we cannot solve it. We cannot understand it even. Everything gets down to one thing eventually, over and over again.

To appreciate those little string of moments that make us yearn for more. That makes us oblivious to counting the people that failed us. Those blank stares that overcrowded our way. Often we cannot help but wonder where the soles of their shoes have been and where they are going next. Why they are always in such a rush not to be calculated anymore. Are they late to somewhere? And is this somewhere a place or a person? Does that make them happier or sadder?

Or maybe both. How do they feel for just being a presence and not an existence in our lives? In our dillusions we still wonder what would happen if we all carried numbers above our heads, like an hourglass letting us watch in horror when our time to be ranked has come. Would these people be the least feared of what we did not share with them due to the wrong measurements of the little boxes they reside. We could not fit in them. Little boxes inflated with ego, made up realities and misguided individualism.

Now we know. They did not make room for us. It was never about our size. They were never on our side in the first place. Time is not either. We track and lose it constantly. Everyone is thinking it but nobody says a thing to anyone anywhere.

That no matter where you are in the world, no matter where your feet are planted or your thoughts rooted, no matter the time, you know that there is someone out there in the world thinking about you. Missing you and hoping for someone like you.

They are just one person.

One and no other.


Author: Pepi Naki

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