Breathing But Not Living


The sound of silence is all I can hear. I watch the similar souls: looking but not seeing, hearing but not listening, talking with no voice and touching without feel. I stand and I take in the sights. And as the twilight wraps itself around me, I can’t help feeling that they are lost. Lost without hope. Without togetherness. Without virtue. Solitude.

Breathing, but not living.

This time of day is my most favourite. The period between light and dark, between day and night – tranquility abound. It’s always been this way: standing on the mountainous peaks, overseeing the fields and valleys, watching plantation wither and flowing streams as they meet their demise. It’s not too dissimilar to life, the way that the rivers meet the sea.

No matter their source. No matter which mountain they flow from or which perilous path they take – they all end up in the same choppy waters. They all meet there eventually. It’s an inevitability. The vast oceans of unending time: where dreams meet their doom, where fear no longer exists and where the human soul is finally lain to rest. Without solitude.

Hope. Togetherness. Virtue.

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