The Odds

There's something about the exchanging of months that leads me to believe that if I don't write in January I'll be sorely upset and can't take the chance to miss out on the opportunity of anything.

Humans have the most silent, beautiful, elegant and yet hidden metamorphosis out of any living creature. The way we can change, grow and adapt ourselves to any situation breaks any aspect of natural. We are a logical impossibility. The fact that the human race, even the Earth, exists is a matter of Universal-Scale Chances. And yet we broke that expectation too.

So how does each of us exist. Solace, a bus ride, isolation in expectation and a curious eye wandering through the motions of a more curious brain examining the brief touch of a meeting between individuals. Is that what we are? We are individuals of each other.

How is it we crave for individuality and yet hate to be alone?

There's a theory pertaining to the end of the world (as we know it) that more or less states that eventually our entire collective consciousness will be compiled into one big being. We will cease being unique minds and share a brain. Like an ant colony.
And all I can think about is how will this affect me.

Are we able to live in a world without that catalyst of uniqueness. Are we able to live in a world that isn't lonely? Can we survive as a race in a world where you, yourself cannot play violin on the Great Wall of China or dance in Ruins of Rome?
Is it truly possible to find yourself and grow, and change and adapt in a world that's uniform on every level?
Aren't we already one in a billion odd?
How can we not be unique and rare,
on a world that is itself unbelievable.

- Taylor J. Pridgen

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