The Lives

 

The night weighed in phantom, creaking its presence to sound off all who may dare to take advantage of the darkness he provided. You would be surprised by the number of people who thronged, who swarmed towards night, to seek her shelter, convinced of the numbing benevolence the darkness provided, but little did they know, all night wanted was to be left alone, shy, misunderstood night chose a life of loneliness and melancholy most willingly, completely aware of possibilities and potentialities. Night is a protector of secrets infinite, night is also when they live the most they live the maximum, they being the some who refuse to be fixed; night is a mistress to their lives.
We live lives second hand, lives that aren’t ours to live but we still assume, stubborn and persistent till the very end. The second hand life is practical, is functional and yet what none of the propogators and believers ever state in all honesty that the second hand life is seemingly functional and seemingly practical, for no matter how much you deny and say nay, the life was never yours to live, as suitable as it may have been, as normal and appropriate as it was, it wasn’t yours to live. The ‘we’ I talk about most earnestly, most sincerely are those too confused, too easily swayed by worldly arguments incoherent with reason and practicality, too habituated to think any different, but we must rally against their thoughts, against their lives, we must rally. The nights are the hardest for the lives second hand, the secret is kept in the frigidity of the night air, in the still silence, pregnant with judgement yet as night promises,the secret is kept. The nights are sleepless for them, they toss and turn, worry and fuss, confounded, baffled by their insomnia; eyes heavy with regret over the never knowing, limbs limp with the guilt of knowing. These are the average lives I dare not condemn lest my impressionable life be such, these are the lives okay, not good not bad just complacently content o-kay.
The question that lies supreme is the question never asked or thought aloud, it is alluded to in all works and creations of mankind but it is a reference mostly avoided mostly muted. The naivety of my argument, I am aware, yet all I ask is why not? The argument you might ask is what, the argument is the existence of peace within the purest chaos, chaos orchestrated by you and you alone; I speak of the laziness the second hand life gives, the easy, convienient peace within a life that was the life you were born to,written down to live, the life that we were made to live for. My reasoning must contradict but then so does night so does day so does our lives.

 

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