005. nothing matters
i am a product. shades of blacks and browns twisted and wrapped with care, left at the side of a building that is otherwise unknown and unloved. and what a life one must lead, to understand the pain of a building that towers above all. seemingly untouched and unharmed, though the chipped walls and colored bricks would say else wise. i was once new, too. fawned over and kept pristine. left only to the careful hands of those with evident experience, the insides kept safe from the acid rain of a society that doesn't, wouldn't, can't know better. but such things do not last. no, such things do not matter. isn't it true, though? isn't it true that inanimate objects, too, feel animosity? you were once important, too. wrapped with hours of invested time, tied tightly with a bright red ribbon to indicate the novelty of being something fresh amidst a city of old. i understand. such things do not last. no, such things will never matter. i cannot be who i was, just as you can never be what you were. and really, it isn't anybody else's fault but yours. who else is there to blame for your lack of appeal? for your dull and apparent lack of allure? who else can take fault for your inability to conform to the likes of the society in which you were placed - not asked - but planted. you are no longer a place of marvel, and i no longer have a place to consider me marvelous. you and i, we are two of the same seed. they look past you, they do not bother to inquire about me. they do not care for what i stand for. i am nothing compared to that of the new. i will be nothing until i do for them what they please. and i am inconsistent, unapproved, illogical. we stand amongst the others, crowded by their fresh appeal; by their naive and clouded sense of a world that will not love them forever. we have been tampered with, you and i. colors painted over our chipping walls and eventually left to gather dust. eventually, perhaps, we may be redeemed. new eyes are exposed every second of every minute, and every day i wish i could be in any other place but here. in a new place, where words do not beseech me. in a friendly place, where all is called to greatness. but such things do not last. such things will not matter. you are a product, and i am a package, and one day these ribbons will not matter and these confined lines of blurred realities will not smother us with their fake appeal, for we shall produce alone. the words we speak and the things we do will be a product of our own. and such things, such things matter.
