Genuinely sleep. With thick, soft blankets pressed against my worn body as my mind wafts towards dreams beyond my own restraints. I want to be free, to call for freedom from all these worrisome thoughts from my head. There has been many things that has changed ever since I last properly wrote in this wall I call home, and I wish there are things that I could change, that I could-
Be myself again.
I am twenty one this year, nearing the age of twenty two. Funny thing is, I feel like I am a fifty year old man, and deservedly so. I have no desire to follow these lofty thoughts that people call dreams, nor do I have the need to prove myself better than the others in life. I have achieved a sense of nonchalance, a behavior that should not be present in such a young body that is me. However, I feel rusty, as thought my hands have hefted heavy amounts of sand for the past twenty two years, thus creating this comfortably numb feeling, so much so that I almost never feel the need to lift them up and surrender to the imminent wave that is creeping towards my way. The wave of notions, the rifts that replicate itself once every few seconds, and torrents of crafty thoughts that seep through my veins like water into soil, immolating itself with its touch and taunting as I stare powerlessly at my own creation.
Reality check.
Am I the same person that I was two to three years ago, laughing with the winds and howling when the moon shone upon me? Perhaps not. I am an old soul, with my smile being mere fragments of a distant past, a sore reminder of who I used to be, and what I could have been if I had been a tad bit logical and emotional. I am now a man (ha!) with a hollow mind, grafting thoughts of the pasts and the 'ifs', and the cycle will repeat itself every once few seconds.
I find myself to be immune to be less receiving of jokes nowadays, and to have been more appreciative towards human kindness, whether it be intentional or by obligation. I may have lived a little bit lesser than many fifty year old men or women out there, but I felt like I have seen it all. All the pain. All the sorrow. All the horror.
All.
I can no longer find it easy to forge an emotion. Perhaps I have used all of it to forge human relations, and fighting hard to make these relationships stick. Friendships, love, family... All these has made me more of a human than I ever thought I could be, but they are also the cause of my dying heart and desire. I have fought, and fought enough. I am torn, broken and forcibly ripped apart by these emotions, and I am tired. Just tired of the vague smiles, the weak fist bumps and the smirks. I am done. With all this, I have reached a conclusion, the one that wraps these warping thoughts into a sentence.
No one loves me, and neither do I.
No one.
Be myself again.
I am twenty one this year, nearing the age of twenty two. Funny thing is, I feel like I am a fifty year old man, and deservedly so. I have no desire to follow these lofty thoughts that people call dreams, nor do I have the need to prove myself better than the others in life. I have achieved a sense of nonchalance, a behavior that should not be present in such a young body that is me. However, I feel rusty, as thought my hands have hefted heavy amounts of sand for the past twenty two years, thus creating this comfortably numb feeling, so much so that I almost never feel the need to lift them up and surrender to the imminent wave that is creeping towards my way. The wave of notions, the rifts that replicate itself once every few seconds, and torrents of crafty thoughts that seep through my veins like water into soil, immolating itself with its touch and taunting as I stare powerlessly at my own creation.
Reality check.
Am I the same person that I was two to three years ago, laughing with the winds and howling when the moon shone upon me? Perhaps not. I am an old soul, with my smile being mere fragments of a distant past, a sore reminder of who I used to be, and what I could have been if I had been a tad bit logical and emotional. I am now a man (ha!) with a hollow mind, grafting thoughts of the pasts and the 'ifs', and the cycle will repeat itself every once few seconds.
I find myself to be immune to be less receiving of jokes nowadays, and to have been more appreciative towards human kindness, whether it be intentional or by obligation. I may have lived a little bit lesser than many fifty year old men or women out there, but I felt like I have seen it all. All the pain. All the sorrow. All the horror.
All.
I can no longer find it easy to forge an emotion. Perhaps I have used all of it to forge human relations, and fighting hard to make these relationships stick. Friendships, love, family... All these has made me more of a human than I ever thought I could be, but they are also the cause of my dying heart and desire. I have fought, and fought enough. I am torn, broken and forcibly ripped apart by these emotions, and I am tired. Just tired of the vague smiles, the weak fist bumps and the smirks. I am done. With all this, I have reached a conclusion, the one that wraps these warping thoughts into a sentence.
No one loves me, and neither do I.
No one.
