No One Knows

We’re all flesh, blood, sand, and some would add bones trying to figure this life out. We don’t have a method to our madness or some unique formula that tells us what stays constant and changes. We’re all just living with the hope that we get it right. No one knows what they’re doing.

It’s 1.30 am, and I’m way past my bedtime; if you wonder why I’ll tell you. I’ve stayed up with a hope that I’ll somehow be able to decipher the secret code to the minds of men, to understand the ways humans naturally stray towards complications and complexities as opposed to living with honesty and a genuine desire to be straightforward. Dear reader, I have gotten nowhere in cracking this mystery. Again, no one knows what they’re doing. We’re all living with the hope that we get it right.

“The heart of man is deceitful, the same red-coated soft organ that does way more than distributing good blood. Weak as it seems, I have decided that the most challenging shell lies in that illusion. The heart is strong, dark, bright, and capable of all shades of despair and confusion. I’ve seen it, I’ve known it, and it’s the reason my eyes stay wide open tonight. Dear reader, again, we have no method to the wickedness of our hearts.”

Strange that it would seem I’m choosing today to spill redder and waste letters on the obvious, the obvious that we can’t and won’t know it all but I dare say that old pain stays new. Perhaps this is wild ranting, some medium to vent and curse at the ways life knocks you off when you finally balance the wheels, or just the disappointment that we sometimes lose more than we gain. Dear reader, this is sloppy writing, the same type you blame on a failed heart project.

It’ll be 2 am soon, and while I stay with the knowledge of my discovery, I hope that the only effort we consider worthy is to be true to ourselves and show love in every way possible to the people around us. There’s never a guarantee that the plan would work out or that the people we fight for would take blows for our sake; neither is there the fact that we would know for sure what stays hidden in the heart of another. In essence, we wouldn’t be too sure of the lies in the truth and the sensible reasons or absurd excuses behind the actions of others.

Dear reader, no one fully understands it, but we’ll go to bed in the hope of a better day. Surely someday, we’ll live confidently with all of this confusion, and we would find a perfect calm in the chaos. This is what we would settle for. This is what we would call home as no one knows what they’re doing. We’re taking baby steps to more extraordinary endings.

No One Knows.