This life, this world, the people and even those I imagine to love. They are like sand flowing through my fingers, like dust in sunlight. They escape my grasp and I escape from their embrace. I drown myself in ice, upon layers and layers of this acid substance, that corrodes me and leaves me sore.
The futility and meaninglessness of it all is the joke, that insult which wants to kill me. Would I save a hundred, a thousand or a million lives, if I could? I do not think so, for what are these lives worth? The universe has beauty, it’s true, but not in the way of us humans.
I’ve seen the beautiful sunset on beaches in many countries , watched the snow cover mountains in different continents. I have seen the beautiful smiles of people in many places. And it has all left me empty. Void of a connection to anything. There are no chords to resonate with mine, and I know this to be true.
What’s fucked up is going back twenty years to realize nothing has changed. Despite the money, despite the power, despite the marriage and despite of everything else, the knife would still feel as good against my skin as it did back then. The only reason not going for it is laziness and the unwillingness to explain.
I pick up the threads of this old life, wondering about the ending. How a beginning and an ending can seem and feel almost exactly alike. I am unsure about the future, knowing only that I will not bend or brake, knowing that I will live and hate and grow cold.
It’s no better lying than telling the truth, because it all leads to the same misery of broken dreams and ideals, that were never there in the first place. How I hate the happiness of others, the joy of not understanding, of not seeing, how pointless it is. How nothing matters at all.