To be nothing more

The flamingos don’t wish to be blue, and the dung beetles don’t seek other things to roll around. The bees laze in flowers and the heron watches the shore. And none of them need to be any more. 

But the human struggles always with their limitations. They spawned imaginations just to think up new horizons from which they can fail. We’ll never be immortal or unaging, we’ll never evade death or unhappy endings, we’ll never sprout wings and fly away. And we’ll never stop hating ourselves for it.

It isn’t enough for us to create our art, and be kind neighbors, and evolve into the people we’re supposed to be. There’s always one thing we didn’t do, one place we have yet to go. We fail to stop and realize that we’re already doing the awe inspiring, perhaps even the outrageous, we don’t also have to do the impossible.

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