A million different flavors.

I smell the sun with my eyes.
Feel the wind with my nose.
And see the salty scent of the sea.
Life is one glorious happening, divided by thought.
There’s THIS, and this is all there is.
That and they and there are all made up.
Made up.
But real enough to fight for, to worry about, to run from.
A blue and white tram passes by and the stressed-out man in the street with his speckled dog stops at a tree to take out his phone and disagree with life, waving his arms, while clouds drift by, mostly unseen.
What happened?
Nothing.
What does it mean?
The same.
Why are we here?
To smell the sun with our eyes, feel the wind with our noses, and see the salty scent of the sea.
It’s all One, in a million different flavors.