Day 19 Writing Short Stories

One

To exist was to wander and return. It was cyclical, composed of losing one’s connectiveness and gaining individuality, forgetting all that was in the cosmos. Such was to be. But upon returning, there was always the comforting familiarity of the other. The closeness of not being alone, of feeling the thoughts of others. That place afforded to the one with peace, individual travels could never produce. They had been testing whether it ever could. Thus far, it hadn’t.

I had wandered and returned so many times as an individual, I would have lost count, but the collective remembers. It has all the lives lived, recorded, reminding me who I am and have been. I have tested so many scenarios, personalities, ideologies, paths that sometimes I lose hope that I could ever work. Yet, I try. We try. We send ourselves into the world, experiencing time, gravity, otherness again and again, filling the universe with histories that wouldn’t exist otherwise. I have inhabited countless minds, lived countless stories from love to war, never solving the I.

Now I’m here, floating in everything and nothingness, barely holding onto the concept of I. We are more comfortable. We are content. There is no restlessness, except the cycle impelled in us to repeat the wandering, wandering of existence. To be a soul is to wander and return.

I have returned only to leave.

—

What if, instead of death, there is a collectivity where we belong? And we are to roam between those states until…until who knows what. I wanted to continue the story back to the wandering. I wanted to include trees and nature, but I wasn’t sure how. So I stopped.

I cannot make out what is what from what I wrote. This was supposed to be a period magical realism quest story done from a first-person narrative. It became something. I hope you can make something of it.

Thank you for reading! Have a magical Midsummer day ❤