Life sits with me,
a quiet companion at the edge of thought.
It speaks in riddles, soft whispers
of meaning scattered like fallen leaves.
What is simplicity?
A stone smoothed by the river’s patience,
a bird flying without asking why.
But we, seekers of truths,
build towers of questions
higher, endless
until they crumble beneath their own weight.
Each moment arrives uninvited,
chaotic,
like rain striking the earth in uneven rhythms.
Some drops nourish,
some flood,
yet all belong to the storm.
Does life make sense?
Perhaps it never tried to.
Its beauty lies in the jagged edges,
the missed beats of a song
that still lingers sweetly in the air.
We trip, we rise, we dream.
In the end,
it all fits
a puzzle of misplaced pieces,
perfect in its imperfection.


