textures like skin

we reflect light in waves and distances, we are our fears and transparencies

hidden textures from within

If we explore every crevice of our exterior, capture every texture and shape, will we know what hides deep inside? If we know every pore and hair, every eyelash, will we understand every look, every tear, every scream? Or, much like a scientist, will we regress into a stage of observation, constantly procuring the actualised?

And if we bestow upon ourselves the inhumane task of understanding All, of procuring the Truth, are we not seconding ourselves only to God? Are we not setting our eyes on a star far too vast and bright for our small beings to comprehend? Trying to hold something so holy it would melt our wings like Icarus or send us down a spiral of madness like Zarathustra?

Yet, we don’t let go, some of us at least, we keep growing like trees, branches wide and high claiming the skies as our own.