Ubiquitous | Teen Ink


March 29, 2010
By miss-silverwing GOLD, St. Louis, Missouri
miss-silverwing GOLD, St. Louis, Missouri
16 articles 0 photos 7 comments

Favorite Quote:
I'd like to flood the streets of your heart with everything I cannot say.

The beginning is a lie, because
there wasn't one. There is no
viable explanation for existence, because that
would imply a "before," and a "before" would indicate
that something was previous to the moment when
everything was. Of the Universe, life is its own
paradox. No attempts should be made
to justify why one second, our ribs relentlessly guard
a precious secret: our heartbeats, our veins, our blood,
our life - and the next moment, the information has been
dispensed into the atmosphere, increasing by one the
countless husks of a life lived, richly or poorly, in months or
in decades. It should only be noted that
alongside shimmery hunks of rock and ice
and stars that explode in and out of an existence
fulfilled amongst glittery dust and empty space,
there is room for a planet clothed in shades of
green. There is room for the forests mutilated and
lakes clogged and rivers flowing within and without us.
There is time enough for over a trillion
boys and girls to orbit endlessly around their
individual worlds, separated by eras and people
and thoughts and emotions and words.
The universe expands and contracts with
every death and birth, allowing new space for the
babies born and suicides committed
under watch of weary eyes nestled in crinkled faces;
faces that have seen it all before and nevertheless
crease in the same spots and withhold the same
impulses. Encompassing the largest berth
are trivial memories, suspended from
century to century, that tie all of us together:
crimson roses and weddings in white and
a mother's lullaby and the tender recovery
from the mark of a brutal sun. The laced dresses
and worn overalls - the city skyscrapers and
humble farmhouses - are stripped away from us,
until we are but skin and voices and ideas
and hearts; hearts that flutter with affection and
race with excitement and lash against our eardrums
with twins anger and fear. And as the
sobs and songs and laughs harmonize into an
ubiquitous hymn of all that we could ever hope to be,
the beginning neglects to hold meaning
any longer. It does not matter where we came
from or how we got there: only that we are,
and that is enough.

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