I put the seashell to my ear, the echo simulating crashing waves. The seashell is hollow like me, formulating a fantasy of freedom among an encapsulated moment in time. A hollow seashell and crashing waves, all within reach but only one tangible. Is there more to life than fantasies echoing against hollow existence? Does love exist? My thoughts are perpetual like the crashing of waves against a shore, short lived but never ending. I used to think love was real but now I think it’s just a rationalization of sex. So we form these fabricated realities as a maladaptive way of coping with things out of our control. Is love real or do we need a reason to fuck one another? If I fuck you, do I even have to love you? What if love is God?
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