Sometimes

Sometimes I look to the stars and envy their unwavering light. They shine bright amongst the sky, day and night. Seen and not seen. Even if the star across the galactic street implodes in a scene of fire and heat, the star that's still in its place won’t falter. It doesn't let other stars affect it. It merely does what it was intended for.
The crickets do the same, in a way. They crick and crack and croak, no matter what. If the cricket's cricket children were horribly dismembered by a crow earlier that morning, the cricket father will still crickle and crackle, unbothered by the loss of his flesh.
The fly will pass by its wife as she struggles against the spider's web. It will nest itself into a pile of horseshit as its lover is eaten whole.
The bee will kill itself over a slight annoyance to its hive. Does it even know it's alive?
And the ant will sacrifice its body so his queen will eat. But that queen would never look twice at that insectoid knight's flattened corpse.
The dog however, will mourn his master’s death. And the elephant will never forget her husband's trunk. But she will recover from the memories of his giant hazel eyes gazing into hers.
But the man. The man cannot recover. And the woman cannot move on.
The man will go sleepless as he remembers his first love. He will drive carelessly as his mind is filled with her voice. His nose full of her long gone scent.
The woman will clack her keys and input the numbers into her computer, lifelessly living her life. But her head will wander from her moment in time. It will go to futures and pasts which cannot be. It will imagine her stillborn son saying his first ‘mommy’. It will imagine his tiny hands slowly growing in size as she feeds and nurtures him. As his ‘mommy’ turns into a ‘mom’. As his babbles turn to words. As he goes from boy to man.
The man will arrive at the cemetery and approach his lover's grave, and he would imagine holding her living flesh close to his, instead of standing above it’s decaying death. Perhaps he would pass the woman as she kneels at her child's resting place.
The world could unite them in pain and create a bond of indestructible love. Instead he scoots by her, and never sees her again.
Human consciousness is the opposite of natural. Such intense pain that cannot be seen leaking as blood, but instead stays locked in the mind, is not natural. Towers taller than mountains, columns of smoke reaching the heavens, weapons capable of ending the very thing they were created from, are not natural.
What are we? Beings of emotion coupled with beings able to understand deep knowledge will crave that answer.
What is my purpose?
Is your purpose to slave away in your office? Maybe.
Is it to drive a truck full of boxes from one place to another. Perhaps.
Is it to be a miserable, sad, grief-ridden husk of a person? I don’t know.
Is it to kill as many people as you can before you’re put down. Who can tell you otherwise?
I saw a butterfly land on a dog's head not but a day ago. It was a magnificent yellow, and it complimented the deep blonde of the dog's fur perfectly. He ate it out of the sky once it tried to fly away. The owner laughed. If I ate it out of the sky I’d be crazy.
I have learned that life is not all that important, in the end. Someone will always be there to laugh at your death. At your pain. At your purposelessness. Everything we do in life we take so seriously. But absurdity is so frivolous. And what is life if not absurd? A man can overdose on viagra and a woman can die in her sleep from forgetting to change her tampon. Laugh! Laugh at their deaths! Laugh at the meaninglessness of their lives! Laugh as their memories are played from start to finish. From their first step, to their first kiss, to their first death. All ended in a single second. All that time living snuffed in a single moment of time.
Those stars have it good.
Those crickets do it right.
Those fly’s understand how to not take it all so seriously.
Those bees are probably better off, not knowing what they are at all.
Those ants are lucky to be able to dedicate themselves completely and utterly to a woman, without fear of ever being judged.
The dog can never grasp why his owner is gone.
The elephant will always move on.
But the man and the woman will always wonder. They will always hurt. And they will always laugh. They will always smile despite their pain. They will always cry despite their successes.
We are the most blessed and cursed beings in existence, and I would have it no other way.