Blow out, and breathe in can’t exist without one another. One defines the other, like the marching band defines the military. Play and hard work. Ofcourse, the military can play with their guns when they’re bored, and the band can work through 15 hour practise shifts. All relative, all the time. Fingernails too grow out of love and appreciation if left to itself, and the nothingness that emerges from the cut of a single red rose, is precisely that of a blood-filled tissue left over from a late night dinner trail.
Do we know who we are? Do we realize that we’re exactly how we were supposed to be. All our years of bitching and moaning, and trying to improve ourselves. If only we could accept the two as they are, and agree that the seven sins go along with the seven heavens, then we wouldn’t be here in the first place. *Poof*, vanish. Like a ghost, mirroring itself in the sand that was swept under the rug a million years ago. Will be ever be contempt? Will there ever be light at the end of the tunnel? Will I find the one they call neo? Or am I neo? Or am I a messiah, or a god? What if there is no god? What if there isn’t a stronger belief in humanity, and I end up being a part of Satan.
The two can not exist without each other. And hence, it collapses onto itself, when the game can be seen for what it really is. Play.