I am not the moon

I would like to say something witty and smart that makes you think I’m not, in fact, insane. Not melodramatic in that annoying way depressed people are always acting sad and saying sad things. But in the way that makes you realize it was a part of you all along. It’s fodder, tinsel, ticker tape memories of your future. I’m the finger pointing at the moon. I am not the moon.

Perhaps time  isn’t accelerating. It’s collapsing. All the memories of your future are closer than those of your past. Neat trick. Nice one, God. Real funny. 

I know it sounds crazy. But you’re not crazy. Understand?

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Just know that words are paint. The painting isn’t me. I’m pointing at the moon. But I am not the moon.