There is no Santa Claus; there is no Easter Bunny. There is no such thing as love at first sight; no such thing as true love either. There is no Jesus, no God, no devil, no demons. There is no truth or lies. There is no absolute.
So, why do I hope? Why do I dare to believe? Why do I bother passing on falsehoods to future generations? We all do it, but why me? Shouldn’t I know better by now? Shouldn’t I understand how it all works? But the innocence in their eyes, wide with wonder, stops me every time.
Can you believe it? How I can so viciously lie to a child, without hesitation, while thinking that I’m doing some kind of good? Everybody has to grow up. Maybe the sooner, the better? I wish I knew. I don’t know anything anymore. Life seems like a circle of cynicism; round and round it goes, where it’ll stop, nobody knows. . .
Only I do, and it may come sooner then I think. Ain’t it a shame? But underneath the obvious, there is always that one moment, so precious it is, that it might just be God; that moment when the kids see the presents under the Christmas tree, exclaiming how Santa Claus really did come; that moment when there are foot prints which could only be that of a gigantic rabbit on the front lawn; the moment when you put aside negativity and realize that life isn’t all that bad: it’s just life.
Life is filled with Santa Claus’, Easter Bunnies, gods, demons, lovers, sinners, cynics, optimists, and good people. The moral of the story is that there is no moral. Just what is in front of you and frequently what you carry or decide to leave behind. Life is insanity; beautiful, blissful, treacherous insanity. My mind is a mental clinic and my breath is my medication. Lose your thoughts, think with your heart, and forget the idea that everything is terrible. If everything was terrible, you wouldn’t have good moments to live for.