Daydreams

The non reality of everything that depends on reason alone, like the universe perceived by people, universe of timely indifference, while the innermost part of you, stupid like it always was within the first mind conscious of itself, doesn't listen to you, but you mostly rely upon chance to survive in a reasonable world, and chance is random like instincts - the same days repeated over and over for eternity unless you fool yourself enough to believe that being is nothing but nothingness, until eternity stops for you for a second and looks back at you trailing the path meant for all of us to see the end, the cold of winter mornings gripping hard on your human relationships, the rain falling quietly while the world sleeps as if it intends to steal something out of the damp ground where we are headed, and food becomes tasteless and friendships become acquaintances, maybe it was yesterday when you drank tea and imagined all of this, maybe it was the year before you were born, maybe civilisations go on only due to we daydream over memories and not nostalgia, there is a quiet submission to that warm lie, maybe it was how everyone is born due to evenings were lonely and there was nothing to do but to simply nurture the idea of a child - a replica of your face and your loneliness, and it was easy to let go.