Transcendental Cynicism 3.
We used to only imagine it. The others. And the hidden hours we spent being whole unto ourselves.
Our lives were our lives. We took pride in the ways we learned how to survive. (Whatever this reality is now, I’d like some assistance exploring the movie-set ruins of meaning. We’ll wear pith helmets and smoke cigars. We’ll be in black and white. I swear we’ll be beautiful.)
So when the screens come down at night, when there’s only mindwaves wandering about the ether, do you ever run into me? What if we thought the same thought at the same time? What if no one had to know anything more than that? An everlasting, unanswered echo. Searching and painfully beautiful.