literature

Moments

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Literature Text

There could be billion upon billion of moments during your entire lifespan, and I probably knew the majority of them. I had hit the earth, sang on an airplane, cringed against love’s rejection, ate up all the tranquility I could muster, flung fire in the faces of others. I rubbed my eyes and saw blurriness before the world focused again. I put myself on the chopping block, sent for a spin with the result experiences incapable of being counted or expressed in words.

And, a paradox in itself, I still couldn’t achieve or do or pinpoint many things. For instance, I still didn’t know why cauliflower was white, or why we forget things. I forgot why the sky was blue: I knew the answer at one point, but I forgot. All of those in themselves, however, were experiences. Experiences of not experiencing. Confusing, huh?

Except there was one second – no, it was timeless – that put all of those feelings and memories and doings all in the backdrop, and threw my humanity forward instead. Sometimes the world just goes on and on and on and you feel like you’re going to get dizzy, but it can’t stop for you – no, there’s no way it can. You’re like a fly compared to God’s hand, a miniscule little speck. If you died, the people who loved or still love you would grieve, yes, but you would die. So had everything from every point of life, however. From the beginning of time, from the moment existence appeared, things died so new things could be reborn. That was the ultimate rule. That was the ultimate reason to why you, as an individual, are just another glue drop on the face of the hydrogen blimp.

There are things that put everything into perspective, though. The perspective is too big for your brain, but it’s there, and it’s trying to consume you, because humans – as far as we know – are the only species on the planet capable of reaching the biggest comprehension.

One night, I came downstairs because I couldn’t sleep, and I meandered through the dim into an oblivious walk around the house, trying to lull my head into submission. Eventually, I wandered across to the main hallway, the floor laid with reflective brown tiles, and there was the light from the outside street lamps everywhere. It fluttered through the glass of the front window, piercing the corners of the area with strange, luminescent shapes and diagonal lines. I stared at it for a while, though I don’t know if I was awed, as I don’t think there was a word to describe that feeling that I felt.

On the west wall, there was a mirror. A big mirror. It looked so clean, so devoid of imperfections that at first I thought there was nothing there, that there was possibly another room or dimension on the other side. I hadn’t paid attention to that mirror too many times.

But it was scary, because when I put my hand to the glass, there was a me on the other side. There were two mes now, except the one that wasn’t me, the one that was in the other world, was different – or maybe just the same or maybe nothing at all. She was all these things at once: lonely or too silent or life-like or a ghost or spending all this time looking through when she should be using everything she had been granted to go out and want the world. I wanted to stand there, facing that me forever. There was so much. In those moments, there was an inexhaustible force, a spiraling glasswork of information. It was that perspective. I couldn’t contain it.

Eventually, however, I realized time was ticking again, and then I couldn’t decide if I was freaked out. Maybe I was. Maybe that’s why I withdrew like a cornered mouse and ran away.

So where did the billion upon billion of moments come in? Did they all converge into those few seconds? Or did they have nothing to do with the mirror at all? Was it something else?

In the morning, I woke up and told my mother that last night I had found a mirror, and I wanted to know where it was. I think I knew where it was – somewhere between my sister’s room and the east hallway - but for some reason my mind didn’t want me to check.

“Mirror?” She said, chopping up cauliflower for tonight’s dinner. “Dear, we’ve never had that mirror. You must of saw something else.”
Again, no 'conceptual' category for prose. I'm going to request one one day. P:

Anyway, I'm totally on a spree today. I've been writing like crazy, no kidding. So, low and behold, I worked this one up. Literally, within ten minutes.

Also, some of the ideas may be part of an 'autobiography', but under no circumstances is the rest. I got asked about that when I shared it with a friend earlier. <3

Thanks for reading! Please comment~
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NetusVersatus's avatar
I really like this one. I dunno, maybe I just have a thing for conceptial prose, but I do really like this.