Our Existence

We often find ourselves questioning our existence.

Well, at least I do.

~

I wake up in the early hours of a frosty morning

because I forgot to close my window,

and now my bones feel like the cold stone

that I lie upon in my parents backyard,

on the days the house feels most suffocating.

I recognise my bones as more than

just branches holding organs in place,

and keeping my body from falling.

These bones;

they are the fragile twigs

that can break at any given moment

because my soul has more life than my body,

and subtle movements may be more

than my bones can bear.

~

I wake up in the afternoon

from a nap that was too long

and with a mind that is too hazy.

I realise that I am just a thought

inside a mind

inside a body;

a body that remains in a world

of which no one knows

how it came to be.

I realise that if there were no world

there would only be a universe.

I realise that if there were no universe

there would be no stars.

And finally,

I realise if there were no stars,

no planets,

no infinite black,

there would be nothing.

But nothing is still something.

I question where that something derived.

I picture nothingness,

almost like that white piece of parchment

that changes when moved through a machine.

Or that blank canvas that

comes to life with the stroke of a brush

that’s been dipped in paint.

Maybe that’s how nothingness

turned into black, and stars, and me.

Maybe everything was painted and brought to life.

The stars,

the planets,

the sun,

the creatures that inhabit worlds.

Maybe I,

we,

are nothing but a picture;

moving as the artist paints

something new.

~

I often question my existence.

I often question yours, too.