“In a novel world, man would simply wake non-committally, stroll vicariously through a perfect day, learn nothing knowing everything, and melt into an active slumber of taboo regard. Pleasantries aside, one should move on from parastillness and obscene milestones of excellence, and be afraid at times of what lies ahead, knowing without knowing why that it will all end in the finality and loneliness of an ever untimely demise, but resume once more with an abundance of possibilities; each new direction scattered like confetti across another bridge between dreams.”

© Tamara Natividad | | Written 28 May, 2013