Perhaps the human being never existed

and Socrates and Aristotle and Plato all

got it wrong. Perhaps we are not all

part of something greater, but indebted only

to ourselves? And we yearn. And we crave.

And we kneel at windows on our knees,

tears running with spilled words and

confessional regrets as we wish for

something more in this life. We pray

for forgiveness, too. Perhaps this is

the human, yes, yes, this is that arcane

projection of ourselves that we try

to fit every day. This is the human and

we are all just pretending to be.

And we are doing a pretty shitty

job of it, too. Can I tell plato that the entire

world is his cave? We are just mole rats.

We are just mole rats who try to become

fire-lit shadows on walls. Perhaps this is

the human. Perhaps we are not human

beings, but rather humans being. And we

stand up from the window. Perhaps our wish

has been answered.