Sometimes, while standing at my bus stop, I feel completely alone in the world. The cars and buses and trucks pass by without passengers. The other beings that exist on the bus seem like only figments of my imagination. Like I'm a dreamer who has lost control. It makes me ponder the truth behind things like love and hate. The figments had to come from somewhere. Are the people I love just the things I love about myself? And alternately, are the people I hate just things I despise about myself? In my dreamland, I am every person there is, ever was and ever will be. I burned millions of Jews in concentration camp ovens, I bombed and wiped out an entire city to end a world war, caused by and fought against myself. I have been President of the United States 44 times and every King and Queen of England and the Commonwealth that ever lived. I invaded China and then built a Great Wall to defend against myself.
These figments come and go so quickly, I stand in awe of how rapidly I can create and destroy such unique entities. The world is a testament to my imperfectablility. I am the world and the world is me. These thoughts I have are being shared with all of the pieces of me that I have spread so thickly across the earth. We are all connected, linked, sewn together so tightly that we rarely see the stitching that binds us: an invisible thread that makes us say, "I am you and you are me and we are we and we are all in this together because we have never been apart."
These figments of my imagination. I wonder if they even know...
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