March 02nd, 2015

If I sang a million songs
If I wrote a million words
If I did a million things
Would I really know me better?

Isn't it absurd?
The way we give weight to the ever fleeting?
Isn't it so strange?
The way we feel different in each moment?

None of it matters.
None of it means a thing.
Yet my silly human mind
is so desperately clinging
to what could and could not
to what should and should not.

And none of it is real. 
It's all just dust rolling by.