Anon

It’s been a while since I’ve put pen to paper, even metaphorically. The truth is I’m scared of writing. Or what it means of my situation, the effects it will have on my psyche. When I put words onto a page, they come from my head - and often I don’t know that I’m thinking of something until it’s written infront of me. And that’s a scary thought - I don’t really know who I am unless I read it from a page. I have so many layers, that I’ve worn to make sure I fit anywhere, with anyone. I’ve lost sight of who I am, and all that is left staring me in the face is loneliness. The world is not simple, I can give you that one for free. Emotion is the source of everything that is wonderful, and wrong with the world. Love is just as strong a poison as it is a tonic. Unrequited love can kill a man’s soul in the time it takes for a distancing glance, leave him bare and hollow, with rarely his sanity. If you truly seek wisdom, you will find that nothing is ever worth learning, but better forgotten so you can learn it all over again. You can spend a mortal life chasing shadows that maybe never were, and it would not be wasted. We make reason for our own existence, it’s something that science will never discover – no matter how complex the formula – and yet could you tell me one reason why we live? Could you even tell me what it is to live? These are things that we don’t, can’t, shouldn’t understand – but that we know instinctively. I think if we could touch the reason for living, it wouldn’t be valid anymore. I wonder about the human mind, and the way we are. It’s human nature to never be satisfied, and that confuses me. Greed only leads to more greed, when does the cycle stop? And what does it truly gain? If everything worthwhile eventually becomes worthless, aren’t we always living in the past? ‘I don’t know’. That’s the only reality that I know.