I feel as if I am stuck. Stuck in this strange place, this strange life where I simply go through the motions and time passes quickly by, day by day. I am not happy but neither am I sad; I am nothing. And the mundaneness of my routine only fuels this nothingness even more. This place evokes no response because it is no longer strange; it has become too familiar and we all know how well I do with familiarity.
I am so tired. Always, so tired. I have too much on my plate, but I can't give any of it up. And I would never want to. Being busy is something that I am always, even subconsciously, trying to be because I don't want to stop and see how drab my quotidienne life has become but this then becomes the routine and it is a perpetual cycle.
I miss witnessing the falling snow and being mesmerized by its beauty and calmed by its frost. I miss stepping in the foot tracks that were made by the one walking before me and how comforting it felt.
I wonder if non sequiturial is even a word. Isn't it strange, how we can convince ourselves that a word is a word by repeating it over and over to ourselves until the idea of it not being a word becomes absurd. Although, it is the same with all of the other delusions in our lives that we convince ourselves are reality, isn't it. Repetition is key. To perfection and likewise to destruction.
I have an insatiable desire for solitude, no matter how abundant the love is around me. Some nights I sit out on my roof and watch as the planes fly by and away and am filled with longing to be on one of them, going, going running flying leaving venturing to someplace new because I am never satisfied with where I am in the present. I am not satisfied nor content with where I am or what I am or what I have but neither do I know exactly what I want because I know nothing.
I seem to have developed an inability to speak when it matters most. My mind is filled with words that would appease and put at ease not only those around me but also my own scattered mind, but these words never make it out. They get caught in my throat and tie up my tongue and I am left with nothing to offer but a silence that only keeps us both guessing.
I don't allow myself to sleep, or rather, there is something that is keeping me from much needed, much desired, slumber. I find myself, night in and night out, staying awake long after I have gone to bed, and not for any particular reason. I find things to distract myself from my aching head and my heavy eyelids and my tired heart because I can't, I just can't let myself fall asleep. And I don't know why or at least I don't want to admit why so for now I'll keep my distractions at hand.
