Cet

Every day accumulating creates increasing weight of burden, like the book that you keep putting off but you know you have to read. You worry about the thickness of the pages, failing to realize that the real issue is the complexity of the literature. When you put together enough inner force to ready yourself, you are intimidated by the amount of dust collected on the cover. Before you begin to skim, you flip the pages quickly to prepare yourself for the eternal read, only to go back to the beginning hoping that the deed would discourage you. You hold it close to your face but can only make out a few words when you realize that the scripture is all hand-written and messy. Attempting to scrutinize the demeanor of the letters, you lose interest in everything else. You progressively increase the page numbers as you climb towards the end of the book. When you come to the climax of the story, you stop to a torturous reality seeing that the end of the book is missing or never put there in the first place. Defeated, you reach to put it back on the shelf in wonder of the final conclusion, when you notice that in small gold text, your own name is printed as the author.That, is the story of life. The text is your existance. It's all written in pencil so it can be erased and forgotten. You try to bookmark it with an astronomical event that anyone can find. The truth is that someone will pull out the marker and claim it as their own for the design and ignore the meaning behind it. No one cares anything of who it belongs to. Even if it were left alone the book would still deteriorate and decay in time and so would the place you kept. Nothing is sacred anymore. And if anything were, it would fall away too.