The “chase” is never ending or ever satisfying. If you’re a chaser, you chase for life, you chase life, love, attention and contentment; you chase happiness. And they, with their slithery tentacles always slip out of your hands, escaping through steel grip and iron resolves. If only you were stronger, perhaps your entire body clad in metal, heart of silver, if only you could just hold on to fleeting memories… if only.
Nothing ever stays though. Nothing ever stills. So, you begin again and chase the next big thing, a little harder, feeling a little darker. After a lifetime of chasing, you look at your hands, stare at the deep ridges of your palms, not entirely human and entirely self-carved and realize…
–
happiness dances better on an open surface.