only the illusion of an endless whole

I'm not quite sure the weight of its contents.
It's something more than nothing but it's nothing precious.
Objectively speaking.

What is the density of interlacing liquid threads?

This has been a test. She said.

This is only the illusion of an endless whole and we're all striving for maximum legibility.

I'm not quite sure what that means. It's like he said: We create these things to give emotional texture to our lives.
I create to awaken the senses, to find an awareness stemming so deeply beyond the crux of the moment in a dream when you reach true lucidity.

We're fumbling. Falling through reality. Through space and time, and broken hearts. Broken clocks. Repaired frames and re framed pairings of ourselves and others.
Through fiction. Through the moment when you wake up in the morning and still wish you were sleeping.
Because it's within the solace of sleep you tread the purest stream of conscience.

This story unravels between our human bodies. Between our fallible, complicated, tragically beautiful little lives. And all you have to do is listen.

Listen to the moment when the reel stops feeding through, and the fiction lifts itself up. And the lines marking where this begins and that ends are blurred.
Transitions do exist.

Yet more often than not they are colored in grey hues. And muddy tones cloud over the vibrancy of life and light that are supposed to radiate…

Extreme choices.
Tiny fragments.
Where does the never-ending end?

They say a tangent is a digression. A digression, an aside, or more so, a parenthesis. And isn't the parenthesis the most significant accumulation?

This is where we’re supposed to focus.
Because within these tiny brackets we believe the deeper meaning rests…

This is about the work.
And the work is a parenthesis.
And this life… has been a test.

.........................................
It's been nearly a year since I wrote that. Since I wrote those words upon which I once found myself so completely fixated. Apparently that's one of my weaknesses, being fixed that is. But I just can't believe how quickly time seems to have evaporated... passed through my hands like sugary sand. I still feel like all this, this life, has been a test. I still feel like this never ending string of words and phrases and punctuation marks all being chased by some giant set of parenthesis... seeking a definition for all of this.

It's been nearly a year since I graduated college and each morning I wake up thinking, "what have I been doing with my life?" And then I step in the shower and I hum an Ingrid Michaelson song, and I sip a few cups of coffee and realize that I am simply in the midst. I am in the midst of the wondrous, complex, utterly terrible mess. And for a brief moment I am at peace. I am caught somewhere amidst those muddy tones and blurred demarcations... and that is all okay.

This has been a test. She said.