Nothing to Anyone

11 Jul, 2026

So much of our existence is paradoxical. The desire for freedom is inherent to human nature, yet we willingly sacrifice it in exchange for meaning. “To love is to suffer,” says poor Boris – a truth known deep in the bones of any married man. With our very first breath, we begin to die.

Here I am, on a rainy Saturday morning, wondering if freedom actually exists. Between love and isolation, pleasure and pain, is the semblance of choice merely an illusion? Something to comfort ourselves with on the long road to old age and death?

I’m enjoying the thunder and dark skies. Perhaps that’s all there is to it.