Feeling bitter
Listening to Turbo - 회상
Why is it that when I most need another one to talk to, I can't find anyone? Why do I present to the world a happy image of myself when I am bruising and hurting inside? Why do I feel so fine and well and yet my heart throbs, my face tenses, and the tears come? Why do I tell myself that I am doing alright when I am not so? Why is it that I tell myself a lie, and believe?
I feel happy, act happy, and yet then when I'm all alone, when it's late at night, and I'm left all to my own devices, why does everything dissolve and boil down to nothing? When I'm in the dark and broken apart, why do all my efforts seem fruitless and my good ambitions to have failed? Why does everything seem so hollow?
Why does it seem that I have nowhere else to run, and nothing else to hold on to? At the same time, why is it that I feel like letting go of everything and laying down wherever I may be to just hold my hands up to the sky and scream?
Why am I surrounded by kind people and friends yet I have no one? Sometimes I just want to hug someone and rest my head on them, but I can't. It doesn't matter who, even.
Why is the most comfortable pillow so much less comforting than another human, even without words? Why is a shoulder, however bony, softer than the softest feathers? How is it that we feel a sense of relief when we crumble under the pressure and unleash the tears we held up inside?
Sunday, October 18, 2009
Day 252: Temporary Constructs of Feeble Human Intellect
Lies. I should go die. In the morning. Get run over by a car in the morning. All a lie. Vagaries of perception. Illusions. For what? An insipid existence of justifying the human intellect's temporary construct of one's significance in the world? Like an inventor knowing the meaning of his inventions, then what is our blueprint? Simple as from ashes to ashes, dust to dust? An endless cycle of pointless meandering?
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