A Human Life is A Lonely Life

It is during times of temptation that we become fully aware of our humanity. It thrashes, as if at the crash of a tumultuous wave, struggling to be allowed to the surface, and we, being naught save mere beasts, avert our gaze as we tense and suffocate compassion beneath the waves. Humanity is then stifled, her bloated corpse the flotsam of polluted consciousness, irrationality, and impure thought.

It is then a daily struggle, the pursuit of humanity. It is, of course, the plight of all men: the decision of whether to pursue a life on the high plain of morality and humanity or to settle for a meager existence amidst the masses. A human life is a lonely life.

And so, with a spark of humanity, began my confusion. I spied a mirage of happiness, seemingly glistening from my seat on the caravan. The caravan crept forward and happiness gradually disappeared on the horizon. I then continued my journey on the trodden lands of discontent. Give me sorrow, I say, for without sorrow we know naught of the joys of happiness. Without its poisonous and bitter elixir how can we long for the sap of joy, our mouths watering with its anticipation?

And so I continue along this procession that we call life, aware that my destination exists in the long sands behind me, but the momentum of mediocrity urges me forward, thrusting me into the arms of uncertainty.