Tree trunks grow bigger each year by adding a new ring of growth. It takes place in the cambium, and the amount of rings is the measurement of a tree’s age. It is only after death that we could count those rings. Humans grow old each year by adding a year to their age. At the end of our lives, our bones will be the only remains as the only indication of our age... And it is only after death that we could really determine our exact age; down to the very millisecond.
And inbetween, we try to remember ourselves as the second hand unwinds. The notion of numerical remembrance blurred to the stage where calculations has to be done to remind a self of time. Diffusing the right with the wrong, happiness from sorrows; in an attempt to qualify the chapters at each vicissitude, we use such flawed words to remind ourselves how we felt. Until we ran out of it, until we could no longer find a different word to depict these assortment of emotions... Until eventually we are obtuse by our own scales of measurement... And we just stopped one day; trying to understand how we felt...
Presents, celebrations, party and cakes. They are just economic arbitrage upon the disparate soul - A provisional gratification upon the faculty of thought. At the end of the day, the fad dies out, and you just find yourself older by the year...
Today is a reminder of how much time I have wasted, of how long I have existed... I don’t want to be reminded of such intricacies but the numerical reverberation somehow reminds me otherwise...
And inbetween, we try to remember ourselves as the second hand unwinds. The notion of numerical remembrance blurred to the stage where calculations has to be done to remind a self of time. Diffusing the right with the wrong, happiness from sorrows; in an attempt to qualify the chapters at each vicissitude, we use such flawed words to remind ourselves how we felt. Until we ran out of it, until we could no longer find a different word to depict these assortment of emotions... Until eventually we are obtuse by our own scales of measurement... And we just stopped one day; trying to understand how we felt...
Presents, celebrations, party and cakes. They are just economic arbitrage upon the disparate soul - A provisional gratification upon the faculty of thought. At the end of the day, the fad dies out, and you just find yourself older by the year...
Today is a reminder of how much time I have wasted, of how long I have existed... I don’t want to be reminded of such intricacies but the numerical reverberation somehow reminds me otherwise...
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