Beyond the Template

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Romance  |  House: Booksie Classic
Something I felt after a few glasses of wine and an intricate discussion about society's way of trying to categorize and rule over the concept of love and happiness.

Submitted: December 26, 2013

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Submitted: December 26, 2013



It’s a take on a moment.

A unique take on a specific span of time.

It has no outline, no measurable depth, no colour, smell nor sound.

It has many levels, both comprehendible and beyond to the unfathomable.

There is no certainty of its existence.

But it’s there.

We feel it.

We ALL feel it.

Whether we deem ourselves immune to attempt the avoidance of its unpredictable yet seemingly inevitable landslide, or whether we are led from it by the laws of a superstitious lifestyle; we ALL feel it.


And in typical human fashion, we try so hard to contain it.

We try to capture it.

We try to chain it up,

Cut it up,

To fit the desperate need for templates in our pathetically naïve, narrow minds

To forcibly stuff it into a box where we can monitor, control, and most importantly enforce restrictive ruling over it.


But we fail.

Oh we fail.

And we stress and we cry and we wonder why

It won’t co operate with its superior commander

It won’t bow down to our need for such organisation.

It won’t follow us through the tunnel, in which we refuse to turn our heads,

Even slightly,

In case we catch a glimpse of the incomprehensible,

Just when we thought we knew it all.


It won’t compromise

Dare we try to make it; it will gnaw away at our subconscious

Ensuring it reins hell on our idealistic ways

Preventing the puzzle pieces of our desired futures ever joining up to form the white picket fence around our hard earned utopia

But instead intricately forcing mismatched pieces together to form something ugly

Something terrifying

Something lonely


We are not in control

We never were

And we never will be

We are not the dominating species on this planet

This is.

And it won’t conform to our rules

We must conform to its.


And as foreign as such a request may seem to such a stubborn race

The sooner we cease trying to condense such unfathomable ostentation

The sooner life will restore itself in us all

Because we feel it

We all feel it

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