we could keep peeling back the layers, getting in deeper than we ever imagined to be possible. it could make us sick to our stomach, light in our heads, happier than we've ever been, more depressed than we understand.
we would have to accept that the layers will never end. that no matter how much we learn, we'll always be a little stupid. that the layers can make us harder or softer, and you can't know that ahead of time.
or
we could stay right where we are. comfy in bed on saturday morning and content in the pub on saturday night.
be satisfied knowing we don't know. we don't know what lurks beneath the next surface. we don't know true joy. we don't know true pain-who wants to know that any ways? we could let the rose tinted glasses blur the truth, let our bliss muffle the noise.
