Houston, We Have a Problem
Reality bites, and so we try to find a way to escape it, like plunging underwater to block the cacophony of disruptive noises of the world. The lap of waves dull the senses, and the whisper of the waters a soft cadence to our ears.
Underwater, there's no rush, the tide a slow creep compared to the erratic flow of blue on the surface. Movements are lethargic, a deliberate mockery of the fast-paced life on the street. Then we get lulled into a false sense of peace, away from the mess of everyday life. We miss the laughter evoked from facetious antics. We miss the anger of professors driven to prove things only they understand. We miss the smiles favored so easily by faces we have met in a past never to be forgotten. We miss the indignations of those we have wronged.
Underwater, there's no rush, the tide a slow creep compared to the erratic flow of blue on the surface. Movements are lethargic, a deliberate mockery of the fast-paced life on the street. Then we get lulled into a false sense of peace, away from the mess of everyday life. We miss the laughter evoked from facetious antics. We miss the anger of professors driven to prove things only they understand. We miss the smiles favored so easily by faces we have met in a past never to be forgotten. We miss the indignations of those we have wronged.
We escape the jangling reality, and we inadvertently miss out on life.
But we choose to stay underwater, deceived by the calmness of a fraud situation. Then we realize we can't forever run away, and the pain in our chests reminds us the need to draw air. We loathe the idea of having to forsake the comfort of tranquility, but we yearn to face new challenges. So we decide to follow the incessant tug to relieve our chests of the dull ache that has turned into a burning throb, even if it means meeting new hardships. Because no matter how much we ignore it, we know, deep down, that staying underwater will kill us.
So we kick our feet and flap our arms because, eventually, we'll have to come up for air.
So we kick our feet and flap our arms because, eventually, we'll have to come up for air.
Paola @ 1:03 PM
