no surprises
There are almost no surprises anymore. Nothing happens that couldn't have been foreseen; few things happen that I didn't foresee.
But if there is one thing I know, it's that seeing the missile coming doesn't stop it from landing. And when it lands, it hurts.
How trite. How pointless. How utterly useless to sit here, typing it out, accomplishing nothing. Words plop down like teardrops, inconsequential. Who cares, anyway?
Fool. Fool.
Am I wrong? Am I wrong to live as I do? I never wanted to drown in contentment. Is that why I've never been happy?
It's all so fragile. Where does one find happiness, anyway? How does one recognize it? Is it simply the absence of pain?
I like looking at the ocean. I like long, solitary walks. The sky, always, any time. Good music. Good poetry. . . . . and what was that Woody Allen had named in "Manhattan"? Ah, yes. Yes. Always that. Always that.
I'm making no sense, and I don't want to make sense. For the first time in months, I just want to buckle and cry. Just go limp. I've had enough. I've had enough sharpness. I'm exhausted from feeling too much.
Enough. I give up.
But if there is one thing I know, it's that seeing the missile coming doesn't stop it from landing. And when it lands, it hurts.
How trite. How pointless. How utterly useless to sit here, typing it out, accomplishing nothing. Words plop down like teardrops, inconsequential. Who cares, anyway?
Fool. Fool.
Am I wrong? Am I wrong to live as I do? I never wanted to drown in contentment. Is that why I've never been happy?
It's all so fragile. Where does one find happiness, anyway? How does one recognize it? Is it simply the absence of pain?
I like looking at the ocean. I like long, solitary walks. The sky, always, any time. Good music. Good poetry. . . . . and what was that Woody Allen had named in "Manhattan"? Ah, yes. Yes. Always that. Always that.
I'm making no sense, and I don't want to make sense. For the first time in months, I just want to buckle and cry. Just go limp. I've had enough. I've had enough sharpness. I'm exhausted from feeling too much.
Enough. I give up.