Absurdity, and Yet—

Life walks in on tiptoe, like a joke told too late, smirking in the quiet room where no one laughs but fate.

The clocks are drunk on minutes, the mirrors lie with grace, and even truth seems hesitant to show its aging face.

We chase what can’t be captured, we name what won’t be known, we build a home in thunderclouds and call the lightning home.

The joy is intermittent, the sorrow has no end— yet somehow in the middle, the absurd becomes a friend.

Because there’s music in the madness, and meaning in the lack, and though we fall a thousand times, somehow—we come back.

So here’s to not-knowing, to dancing in the dark, to finding God in coffee cups or silence in the park.

It’s all a mess, a riddle, a storm without a word— and still we write, and love, and breathe— how beautifully absurd.