What is happiness, I wonder? How is it measured?
Is it by the count of smiles we show, or those we are shown? What of those infamous smiles of plastic, pinned to the face by need? What of the pain they hide?
What is freedom? Why do humans cherish it so?
Is freedom required to achieve happiness? Can one not be happy in bondage?
Why do we need bonds? If they are meant to bring us happiness, why do they tie us down with weights heavier than the world itself?
Questions abound, these and others.. The answers are right there, yet right out of grasp. I see them glistening in the light, teasing with the promise of their knowledge.. and yet I grope for them, blind as a bat. Perhaps they are not meant to be found.. never fully grasped. Like wisps of smoke, they dissolve into the darkness again, until a question kindles the fire again.
Words are not my trade. They are my inheritance, yet I cannot use them. Like old tools, they lie rusting in the shed, worn and dusty from disuse. Spit and polish can’t bring their gloss back anymore. I try to grind them on a whetstone, so I may use them once again.. but only the rough and unpleasant ones make it through. These are hardened by time, not weakened. The rest fall apart like the crumbling vestiges of a long forgotten tongue. I can only sprinkle them sparingly on the stream of uncouthness that flows from the fountain of the mind.
Nevertheless, I do not despair. Not yet. I find solace in the fact that though diminished, the words are still there. They exist. They survive. They cling to the light like shards of a broken jewel, glowing in the dying light of the day. One day, perhaps tomorrow, they will find nourishment and bloom again, fresh for the picking.
On that day, the fountain will gush sweetness again. This will be my legacy.