My mind is nothing more than a tiny bubble that slowly stumbles its way up the side of a flute glass filled with the finest of sparkling white wines. It sometimes gets stuck on a unseen micro-crack, sometimes another bubble gets in its way stalling its decent. It fights its way up leading a life of betrayal, and praying it won't get stabbed in the back. Once it reaches the statically charged surface of the fizzy drink, should it ever reach such a zenith moment, the bubble pops and is reincarnated as a new bubble at the bottom of the glass. It lives out the lives of millions of bubbles, the same repetitive life that such a bubble could expect. It is born at the bottom; it instinctively climbs looking to reach the top only to be surprised with a violent death caused by sudden explosion from within.
My mind plays out the lives of the bubbles for generation upon generation until the drink goes flat and the race of bubbles goes extinct. At which time everything seizes to exist. This is the essence of life.
My mind plays out the lives of the bubbles for generation upon generation until the drink goes flat and the race of bubbles goes extinct. At which time everything seizes to exist. This is the essence of life.
