(no subject)
Why do you continue living on? If you don't care whether you do well or badly, nor is it important to you whether those around you live or die or whatever that happens? People are being used. Eyes are blind. The flip side of happiness is suffering. None of what I say is supposed to make sense. None of what I say is supposed to matter because there is no consequences attached to it. But when there is a consequence attached to it, it wouldn't matter for no words matter. The only thing is peace of mind. The only thing that matters is peace of mind and comfort. I won't say that anyone has to be responsible for this attitude, but people get offended. Does that mean they feel they are responsible? I'm more that ruined. I'm beyond saving in certain senses. Nobody is going to take me seriously and that's not going to bother me, but it does happen that it makes simple matters difficult, or inconvenienced. Maybe a joke, maybe ineffable. Does it matter? You look people in the eye and tell each other lies everyday. Little lies or big lies, which are no longer lies to you, but strategies to keep moving on. Does it matter? The lost montages of a wrong ending drifts away and leaves. An anti-climatic ending, I would say. Smells of decay too. And stagnation. A little jar of mindless happiness. Hapless, futile and lost. Lies because its built upon a base that encourages it. But then maybe there isn't a better way. So what matters? I could lie in bed all day. And nothing would change. I could go out there and do whatever all day. And nothing would change. Or would it? Everybody is different, you agree? If what I refuse to do has a different reason than the one you imagined, would you believe? Would you pardon your own imagination and let someone else's imagination do the explaining for themselves? What if you only see half of the picture? And you hold on to it dearly, that means it means a lot to you, anyobody can see. I respect that. But my respect is not a weakness you can exploit. It has its limits. All injuries real or imagined I apologize for them. Whether you believe me to be sincere or not, I cannot help but believe that you may think the worse of me, but I can only leave it to you to decide. It determines your capacity, not mine. I can go into explaining the injuries and expound on them to make you understand that I understand them, but I would rather not, for reasons both you and I know to be. Your hatred is a blind fire that ravages everything in your way. I have no idea how our paths could have crossed. Perhaps it was never supposed to have crossed, for the better of all of us. But it is easy to deny and hard to accept. And the easy is not always right.