"Is it wrong to have felt so happy spending time with someone that weren't themselves?" He asked.
"Even if all they spouted were empty promises, even if believing them is like grasping for air? What parts of them were their real selves, and what is defined as a real self when we are bound by social norms and formalities and rules and expectations and by the very skin we must wear? Aren't we more free in such a state, or is it just another facade revealed by another layer dissolved by substance use?"
"And what is true freedom? Are we ever able to reach it, creatures such as we are, or are we doomed to forever be imprisoned, to be the moving little meat packages that we are, jumping around on this floating rock in an abyss."
"Now you're just whitewashing it," they retort with a drink in one hand.
YOU ARE READING
A few sentiments
PoetryEverything is in shambles, but that's just how it is with nonsense writings. It contains (very) short stories, poetry, and just words in general that are strung together and might or might not hold some meaning. Basically anything my sleep deprived...
