Having a child is inviting an exciting stranger into your home.
Someone who could ‘make it’.
Someone who could effectuate all of your feeble dreams and ambitions.
Someone who could rationalize your lonely, unremarkable existence.
…
But none of this is true. The apple fell much closer than you thought it would. Your child is revealed in time to be nothing more than yourself exactly. And you are now twice as alone.
You are paralyzed as you watch this child toil through life the same way you did. The same insecurities. The same longings. The same essence.
You are strictly a passive observer and you can’t look away.
…
Billions of others are at this same point of despondency. They too were unable to see through the delusional premise until after the fact.
…
Well shit. The world is overheating. Soon there will be no water or food. There is traffic when you commute to work. All because we had no other constructive way to rationalize our existences.
…
Your dreams and ambitions begin to finally die. They stand no chance. They never did. The child is just a mirror. But you accept that reflection. You seek to appease it. That child becomes your livelihood.
You sacrifice for it. You give yourself.
You are a giving tree. Your child starts taking everything. You benefit not. You are left with nothing. Or maybe everything. Does that matter either way?
…
You near the end. You reflect on your parents. You miss them. You are them. You took from them just as much as your child took from you.
You embrace the recursion. You are lonely as ever, but you sit on this stump and piece together some of these revelations. Truth is comfort. Everything seems a little better.
JUST STATIC 