An empty bottle reminisces the day it was no longer full, only until it is further broken into pieces. It's funny how even the feeling of being incomplete is rather relative. But the idea of being complete isn't absolute either. How can sorrow be empirical, when sadness emanates from an interpretation of the level of one's incompleteness. And interpretation, by virtue, is subjective.
The last memory of being complete, and what it felt like, seems like a dream to most and a myth to some. I am more drawn towards the latter. They seem to know more about faith than the teachings of all religions combined. To wake up every morning, just to scatter again at Sundown, requires perseverance. And a hope, that maybe, just this one time, the night would resonate with the darkness within us and accept us in our natural form- broken and incomplete. And just like that, we go back to square one - hoping for acceptance.
~ AK










