In a world full of chance and randomness, the word “routine” should be a misfit. But the ones who live in great obscurity with unexpected movements and surprising actions are the ones who are shunned, abandoned and frowned-upon by the “minority”.
If a lie is the truth then what does that make us? Are we a lie or are we the truth? Does death become meaningless or does it mean we are alive? Maybe we are just stuck in between two doors – life and death – wondering which way lie the greatest pleasures of being alive.
We are all suicide notes, a statement between two opposing ideas, a place where we have learnt to live, to call our own since the day we gained consciousness. And as a suicide note we have always wanted to belong somewhere. This sense of belonging has turned us into nothing but a pendulum, constantly swaying between two worlds – one where we belong and one where we want to belong.
Those whose veins tremble with the ebb and flow of life can never be found because we can’t see them, our blindness brought about by our incapacity to truly feel what it means to be alive.