Sneak Typing

05 August 2014

We want to write dearly but there are no chances to do so. When the days have passed by and you feel like nothing matters, there is no purpose for all of these and all else, there is something missing in you. It is only imperative that you take action.

Time is an ocean whose waves I cannot ride. I only stay there afloat or not. I cannot be in sync with it. I do try, really. I cannot drown by my own will. Leaving this endless ocean would not be of my choosing. I will only be there being thrashed around by the wind and washed by saline water. I would want to give up but it is not even among the choices. I cannot stay under the sea, I cannot swim. I cannot float above it. This causes me to think that I was cast for this role, forever struggling to attain a certain ideal I could never achieve. So this is how it would be to die trying.

When other people have already opened not only doors and windows but walls and roofs, it makes those who continuously fail to wonder what else is missing, especially when everything seems to be made right for them. They have the materials and health but why are they so different? Why can they not escape the description of themselves as losers? Is it really that bad to lose? To continuously fail? To continuously not be able to be rewarded for something painstakingly achieved? To work that hard for nothing but the sake of trying? What’s the point? When these thoughts are your thoughts, what has become of you? What have you become?

The endless search and asking has somehow sapped out mental energies. You keep thinking how should things be? What are the ideals when you have worked hard to achieve a certain state only to see from that newly achieved perspective that what you thought as ideal is naught but emptiness - utterly undesirable?

A back becomes turned and the march goes on to a beat that the heart cannot match, a direction the mind doesn’t understand. Confusion is a state we can all be free of where indecisiveness, a poison which lets us live half-lives of the lives which we should be living, becomes nonexistent.