Geometry for Ocelots

by Exurb1a

Then all of it paying off—suddenly you glimpse a perfect promise of wisdom on that beach, something to give all the misery meaning: a message in a bottle; a message in a bottle just waiting there for you in the sand, just waiting there to explain everything, to reward you for all your misery and searching, the Truth Behind It All. And you open that bottle with such glee, your fingers shaking so violently in anticipation you can hardly pull the paper from the bottle—knowing that the broken and lonely days are over, the promise that all this torment and wandering was but the prelude to real existence, to your real life of goodness and belonging and certainty in all things. And your eyes race across the paper to find the paper is blank. And the other side is blank. And you put the paper back inside the bottle and reseal it with the cork. And you throw the bottle back into the sea. And you do not look for messages in bottles again.

Life is like a box of chocolates. Cheap, thoughtless profunctionary gift that nobody ever asked for