The child

son of man

You step into life. You roar, you cry. You grab things to try to make sense. You see and visualize. Your cells gulp and gain and thrive to be larger than whatever preceded you. You skip through food and take naps and stay awake at night. You turn pages of wonder into deliberate algorithms and empathy contained in a tiny vessel. The vessel grows but you stay you. You meet people. Sane people with rudimentary emotions. You figure out the boundaries. You draw your own lines. You run red lights. You slam the brakes once. Hospitals fake their welcomes. You navigate yourself through rivers of different isms, casting ashore at times short enough to make sense but not long enough to not care. You fall in love. You grow and break and come to terms with what you can make. You elaborate to ensure you can elaborate. You consume and process. You tread into places nobody fears but you. Fearful, fearful you. You underachieve. You take steps back. You take brisk walks under the midnight sunshine. You never actually make sense. You take long pause to think whatever becomes of you. You compensate. You fall asleep watching scenes of people falling asleep together. You dwell on past mistakes. You get your shit together. Months, maybe years. You start to learn that nobody knows what they are doing. Your shoes are worn out, so you throw them out. You walk in some new shoes. You become a believer. You crash your car and walk out fine. You water your grass to make them greener. You run and talk about running. You still don’t know what you are doing.

You suit yourself just fine.

About Kevin Aditya

Thank you for reading.

22. April 2013 by Kevin Aditya
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