I would like to think that there’s a way to maneuver through this world, that’s not so concentrated on odd ideals that praised those who lived without insight. I desired a sense of individuality that clenched my core. Under praise, compliments and high expectations, I was someone vulnerable and barely alive. I continued to reach, to gaze upward, to stare at blank spaces, hoping for some sort of revelation that would keep others guessing and keep me moving. These acts, alone, were enough to keep me moving, but that never-ceasing feeling of satisfaction was all the fuel I needed. Whether or not I desired it.

C’est la vie.

I played along, hoping to catch onto to something I was missing. An unspoken truth, a missing piece, an invisible comrade. Whomever or Whatever, my world became choked with trials and errors. Stones that rested on the wrong side--awaiting to be turned over to the other side. That didn’t guarantee it was the right side. Or the right move.

C’est la vie.

I slowly followed behind. Careful to not fall too far forward or trip along the way and get left behind. As I followed, I formed new tracks next to or on top of your own. Some faced forward, others did not. The forward-facing ones were the prettiest but required half my effort. Is that why there was beauty in simplicity?

C’est la vie.

I suppose you didn’t know. That’s why I kept quiet.

C’est la vie.

Truth be told, I enjoyed the ill perfected way the trees stretched in every direction. I didn’t appreciate their colors—it reminded me too much of how vulnerable I was. Comment dites-vous, human? But I needed the reminder. I needed the casual, yet deep-pigmented greens, browns reds, oranges, (purples?).

Pourquoi?

I don’t know.
And so, I kept quiet and kept on maneuvering through this world.

C’est la vie.