A quiet house. The dark outside. The wind moves the trees; the only noise I can hear. I look into the darkened glass and see only my impassive reflection. Nothing else.
I look back to my sharp white screen. I see nothing. A white screen. Not even a reflection.
Life is a silhouette, an outline. A blurred form with no colour. Merely a shade. A shadow. The silhouette moves slowly, following the sun. Directionless. No impetus of its own. It goes where the sun dictates and if the sun disappears so too does the silhouette. It has no impetus of its own.
Moving through the day as the sun moves, the blurred form interacts with other blurred forms. They move, overlap and pass. For a while, maybe, they join to form one silhouette. Then eventually they part; any connection is fleeting, temporary and meaningless. Like they had never even been there in the first place. They have no impetus of their own. Their form is fleeting, finite and fickle.
They will pass eventually, all of our silhouettes. For a brief flicker in time the memory of our silhouette may stay, casting its own shadow over the silhouettes around us, but as the sun fades at the end of each day, so too must our silhouettes. Destined to be forgotten, to leave no mark, as other silhouettes form to take our place, with no impetus of their own.
via Daily Prompt: Silhouette
This is your very first post. Click the Edit link to modify or delete it, or start a new post. If you like, use this post to tell readers why you started this blog and what you plan to do with it.