I wish that my life could be fiction.
I wish that all of it was made up because this reality is hard.
This reality is wonderful and I embrace it.
But it’s so difficult and so absurd.
All meaningful things are actually meaningless
and all that is nothing
I pressed my hand against a brick wall today to test its solidity.
I was hoping to push right through but I couldn’t prove it wasn’t there.
I saw structures made of steel and glass and brick reaching toward a blue sky.
It all seemed real.
If it is.