Identity

The uncertainty of their course is what makes good stories. And I am currently observing one of them with great interest. Eagerly and fraught with tension, I wait, unaware of what comes next. I still think about my performance in this play when turbidity takes me captive all at once. 

 

The independent narrative slips my hands – how outgrowing.

 

I strive for victory to free myself from this greasy burden. But I feel so sated by emotions that I don’t know where to put all of this emptiness. No light in sight at the end of any tunnel – I am blinded. 

 

At times, to be is not an easy thing. 

 

How much power am I willing to give the other players? A silent partner who assigns authority. A passive member of my own story. Somebody that attributes more relevance to these people than they deserve. Who do they think they are? 

 

They, them, the others – how dare I?   

 

But yet time reveals true colors. Transience won’t let me run away forever. So it is bound to happen that I slowly catch up with reality, shaking off this self-chosen inheritance for a new performance.

 

Being is beautiful if we allow us room for change.

 

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