What Pocahantus forgot to tell you.

The river is coming.
Emotions are prepared to violate the boundaries set upon them.
And we stare into the grey river and we have to wonder, is it really happening?
White ripples of weakness cut the water's surface.
It gives and it grows.
Downward glances to fight away the tiny droplets of feeling trying to
escape the fortress.
All consuming.
The waves lap lazily along the banks.
Cutting away piece by microscopic piece.
Not tomorrow.
But someday it will all crumble.
The jagged walls that seem to bind it are at mere mercy.
Control, stability, composure, they are all illusions.
To me, to you, to them.

Life lives in a contradiction between everything and nothing.
Thoughts can be broken down into chemical reactions and electrical impulses.
And it isn't even depressing.
In such a world any outcome is dependent only upon those molecular
structures interacting with other molecular structures.
It really is beautiful, the simple randomness of it all I mean.

There's so much more and we don't even know it.
Perhaps insignificance can be inspiring.
Anything produced from tiny bits of nothingness must be genius.

Ebb and flow.
Cry, Cry, Cry.