never mind that now
i am a little tired of life and living; of being and breathing. i am exhausted, fully and in all ways. i feel like a marionette, and each day the world pulls from me another thread of vitality, until i am left dangling on a single string -- and tomorrow there will be nothing left to keep me above ground. i am submersed in letters and numbers, in signs and symbols: words are nothing but a dance of characters and time is fragmented -- fractioned.
i have tried, tried for weeks to avoid a situation which has not simply thrown, but propelled, itself in my direction, and now has completely taken hold. in the span of less than an hour, my feelings traveled through a wide scope: alarmed, alarmingly excited (and not with happiness, but agitation), indifferent, and then finally discouraged. as with all areas of my life, i do not know how to approach the situation, other than to not approach it at all. it is as if the answers are spread out at my feet, and yet the pages are written in an indecipherable code.
sometimes i think it is those who know us the least that know us the best: they can, beautifully and with remarkable clarity, spell out in the span of a few pages who we are, who we have been -- and all without knowing whether we wake or breathe.
sometimes it is those who you can't feel or see who are the most real of all.
i have tried, tried for weeks to avoid a situation which has not simply thrown, but propelled, itself in my direction, and now has completely taken hold. in the span of less than an hour, my feelings traveled through a wide scope: alarmed, alarmingly excited (and not with happiness, but agitation), indifferent, and then finally discouraged. as with all areas of my life, i do not know how to approach the situation, other than to not approach it at all. it is as if the answers are spread out at my feet, and yet the pages are written in an indecipherable code.
sometimes i think it is those who know us the least that know us the best: they can, beautifully and with remarkable clarity, spell out in the span of a few pages who we are, who we have been -- and all without knowing whether we wake or breathe.
sometimes it is those who you can't feel or see who are the most real of all.