Constant Melancholia

You thought emptiness is safe, you thought emptiness means not having to feel anything at all. You thought emptiness is numbness. But it’s not.

July 14, 2017 • 1am

I don’t know why, but there really comes a time like this… where I just feel really empty. Not knowing why; nor how… My mind just takes me into this seemingly familiar, yet lonely state. Or perhaps my heart does. Or, my soul maybe? There goes that kind of time again where all of a sudden, I feel so lost in the middle of the night… While the rest of the world falls asleep; and where everything seems to be so calm… and peaceful. And where all I was supposed to do was to rest my mind, and ease my soul… but where my heart felt otherwise. There’s that feeling again, that I’m suddenly so lost. And wandering. In the middle of the night. Or that same toxic sensation where I strongly felt that I had just lost something..

Something so precious. Something very important.

And then it won’t cease. And until I’ve gone mad again… –it just wouldn’t stop. It’s ruthless. I felt so powerless– so powerless over it. Can’t even do anything when all I wanted to do was to scream. And not being able to just adds to yet another feeling of desperation. And helplessness. It’s so frustrating. It keeps on making you remember something that felt like happened a century ago… Happened a long time ago… Something, — something that’s already been forgotten, but hurts still when remembered. A pang of something that aches. Of something that lives inside you… and it rests right into your chest. And there, it resides very coolly. Something so nameless, yet so powerful… and painful. Something that’s hard to forget, but even harder to remember. 

There goes that feeling again where it’ll make you feel like you have to know the answer; you have to find something. That something you don’t even know the name. That something you do not even know what to call. But it just aches there; inside your chest. Something you can’t… comprehend. Something so far… far away, yet felt so near. Something that causes you too much nostalgia. Something that never really goes away and keep giving you constant melancholy. It’s just there. It never really goes away. Not after you cried your heart out. Not even after a river of tears. Yes, –not even after crying senselessly. Hopelessly. Helplessly. That pointless and nameless tears you don’t even have an idea what for. It’s just frustrating as hell. You’re crying for no reason. Crying for nothing. You’ve always been a fool like that. It’s so exhausting. Nights always seemed to gone by like this. Without any warning, without any further sign, suddenly you are being dragged in some kind of otherworlds. Where everything is all about sadness, pain, melancholia… nostalgia, and despair…. — Also known as memories

Everything is just… unclear. But you feel it all too well. – all too well. The emptiness? Oh, you’ll never know how much the emptiness hurt; Until you feel that lump in your throat suddenly choking you… Or that pain in the chest you feel when you swallowed the coffee suddenly, not knowing it’s still too hot. Or maybe you know that feeling of drowning? You keep on kicking; keep on trying to hold onto something but there is nothing to hold on to. And you just keep on sinking… and sinking. You thought emptiness is safe, you thought emptiness means not having to feel anything at all. You thought emptiness is numbness. But it’s not. I hope it is; I hope it was. I hope it was that easy to deal with it.– Hold your breath, this is going to be painless because you’ll no longer feel anything.

But the opposite always happens. It is always the contrary of it all… Ironic, just like life. Too cunning to even notice at first, but that is just the way it goes. You thought it’s going to be forgiving, going to be a little easier than it used to. Until you realize it was unbearable. Until you feel it, and know it all. Emptiness is the kind of pain you don’t even believe at first… But it will wreck your mind and kill your soul. It’ll burn you, destroy you in the most subtle way possible. — The kind that’ll take away your sanity. It will leave you nothing… but emptiness. The kind of pain where you just stare into space, not knowing what to do; let alone have an idea what’s going on. The kind where you just kind of drift… here and there; Floating in the middle of nowhere. It’s something like that. It’s as though you’re under a blackspell… where you can’t do anything but you feel it. You feel it all…

And all you can do was endure.

There’s that kind of awful feeling again where I’m faced with these unknown melancholy. Where I felt like searching… Searching for something that cannot be found. That same old frustrating sensation where it almost felt like grieving for something; for someone, that went away. Someone who left without a single word and without any trace. The kind of loneliness where you’re not necessarily sad, but you just felt dying inside. That unending pain you never understand where it’s coming from; or when it would stop. Or whether or not it would. It actually hurts like hell. Because you don’t understand a thing and you just keep dying and dying. You just keep feeling it all when all you wanna do was to stop feeling that way. Slowly, but surely… you are getting empty inside. That desperate moment where you just can’t help but wonder; trying to find an answer… but then there is nothing. And it hurts because you can’t make something out of nothing. And in the end… somewhere along the way, you just let the time decide and surrender it all in its own hands… And you let the night claim you because one way or the other; you still lose your mind in the process.

It’s always been like that for me. Just like tonight. Trying to write this, trying to make up what it is. Trying to make sense of what’s going on; what’s happening… But in the end, that feeling of loss, pain… and oppression of something that I’ve lost; something that I’ve left behind…

It always goes down to one thing.

One person. One subject.

— One girl.

I’ve lost myself.

Unrecognizable Pain 

You’re so used to it but you feel it anyway. You’ve prepared yourself for it, but it still hurts you anyway.

July 3, 2016 · 5:23pm

So now that you know something is likely to happen… Something, is actually going to happen. And you’re trying to prepare yourself for it –or for the worse, rather. You’re preparing for it, and how it will feel like when it comes… You’re practicing like, “this is it… this is how it’s going to feel like..” But then again, when it finally comes right down to you… It will always hurt like hell. Like more than what you thought it ever could… And you will feel as if you’ve never even expected it at all; as if you’ve never prepared for it, when the fact is, you knew it all along. –You knew it from the start. You knew all about it ever since; and from the very beginning… But it’ll go as if you’ve never even had any idea… when you thought you’ve been quite used to it. Immune, even. It’ll always feel like that fresh wound you get whenever you fall on your knees. It’ll feel so raw… So new, and almost foreign. It’ll feel so different… as if you’ve never even felt it before. You’ll never gonna be ready enough; or prepared enough. Or even numb enough to feel the pain. Pain is going to be felt no matter what. It persists; so you see. You wouldn’t even believe how much unrecognizable it’ll going to feel like when it’s actually quite familiar… Because you thought you’ve prepared yourself for it, you thought you’re numb. But here it comes again… And there you go again, never gonna be ready enough for it.

And that is how the pain works. No matter how much you thought you’d been exposed to it– so much, it’ll be that unrecognizable thing when it finally gets back to you. As if you never even knew it to begin with. As if you’ve never had, never experienced, and never have met it before. When in fact, it is what life meant you. It demands to be felt… As John Green would put it. Because it does. And because truth is, it’s going to be there, no matter how much you decide you knew it. No matter how much you proclaim… no matter how much you tell yourself and convince yourself that it’s okay, you’re used to it anyway, you’re immune to it, it’s gonna be fine this time around. But it does not. It doesn’t become fine just because you say so. It’s not gonna be like that; not at all gonna turn out as easy as that. Because no matter how much you thought you’re numb enough, it’s always gonna be there when it decides to. Because pain is pain. And it’s supposed to be felt. Just like happiness, just like anger, or even emptiness. That is how we live… — we feel, even if we no longer want to.  We live in order to feel; we feel because we live… or vice versa. It’s just the way our life is… I guess. You’re so used to it, but you feel it anyway. You’ve prepared yourself for it, but it still hurts you anyway.

We are perceiving pain… in so many ways; or so many levels. And we take it just the same. It hits us… and we get, and take it as it is. Pain. We thought we’d never ever feel it again, at least differently, for we’ve felt it far too many times before. We’re so over it; we’ve had enough. And it’s now part of us, or we’re part of it. It’s just the same, and we’re stronger than ever. It’s no big deal at all. And we’re here, yet again, to face it. It’s okay, it’s nothing. But then… but then when it finally gets back to you again, it’d be unmistakable. It’s pain. The pain we thought would never hurt us, or affect us, or sway us again. The pain that we thought we remember, and knew all too well… It’s unmistakably pain yet again. Pain… Ah, that unmistakable feeling!

It’ll always feel as fresh as new.

And I guess… I guess, or at least I’d like to think that… it is something that’s made for us to recognize happiness when it finally comes our way. To become desperate enough of wanting not to feel… and then something very nice, something that really feels so good comes along again and suddenly we don’t want it to stop. We just want to feel that way forever that we just wanna keep it in our hearts. At least, that kind of possibilities… 

And I, for one, think that… we’re all somehow waiting for that. For that kind of moment to pass… To meet our path… To come our way; to wander on our direction at least once. Or for happiness to finally turn our way; to go this way; instead of going there where we cannot reach it… If it would just give us a chance; a one rare shot… Our lives would not only become beautiful, but maybe even so much more meaningful and significant. Life would be better that way, if I say so myself. Because we are, at the end of the day… all empty and lost souls yearning for that seldom moment.

Or so I thought.

Writing Resolution

Because pain isn’t supposed to be just pain. It has to be something more than that.

December 16, 2016 · 4:03pm

I write.

Because if I don’t write, then what would be the point of pain? I feel like life was giving me some kind of poetry… and it is my duty to unveil it. And I don’t mean to share it; most of the time… I want to keep it only to myself. But then sometimes, it also feels like… I’m keeping something that wasn’t truly meant to be kept unknown; and unheard of… But to be discovered, and unbosom… to touch others; to help reach others by words,– if not by hand. It was made to conform. I feel as if… there is some secret message behind it, — a silver lining, after all. To make them feel that they aren’t completely alone. To make them realize that… there is someone, somewhere out there, who also feels the same way. That they have someone they can relate to… Somebody they can understand themselves with. To let them feel something. Not just to let them merely read the words. Because poetry is an art; and art, certainly, always supposed to mean something. Or even something else, and something more than what you can see. It isn’t just a prosaic combination of words, that were put aligned together… with a mere rhyming sound of each syllables. No, it’s got to be something more than that, and we have to get a little deeper to get there. And most likely, that’s when we go Anon. To give them the message without risking revealing your demure self that lives inside you. The one who does not have the courage to stand up and speak. But the words are there. As well as the paper; and the pen. Words that even though shallow; and even though simple… still have made you feel something, or that it had meant something. No matter how inferior, and defeated it may appeal… Or how mediocre it may seem, than intended to be… or is supposed to be. At least, it became something. It is something. Something that’s worldly; something like epiphany… 

Because pain isn’t supposed to be just pain. It has to be something more than that.

Longing for Something

We’ll continue yearning for that something that we lost, but never had…

December 14, 2016 · 11:43pm

So, we’re downright broken and we don’t really know why. But that’s not exactly true. Sometimes we’re broken and we just don’t understand how, because everything just seems to… crumble; and fall apart. Including ourselves, of course. To the point that we can no longer figure out what it is, or who it was that’s been broken.

Everything’s in shambles; all is chaos. And everything is a blur. We’re still having the aftermath of the catastrophe that we’ve had… and we cannot think properly; or see clearly. We are still being blinded by the ashes from the wildfire. And we are still numb from having cramps for cowering too long. We’re just so lost, that is. But maybe we’re broken from everything… from every little thing. Because small things cannot break you; that would be a lie. At least, not exactly. Because the only things that can really break you must be… those great, big things. The things that are bigger than you… or shall I say, the things that make you. The moment when it all come crashing down on you… you, certainly, fall apart as well. And perhaps that is our predicament. To be in such a horrible state of being shattered and not being able to know how, let alone know why. I suppose that’s our greatest torment; we’re all so caught up on everything… and everything falls apart. We are broken by our own chaos. We’ve been broken by our own mere expectations; from our own way of perception… and sometimes, delusion. We hold on to that everything we thought was true. That everything that we thought we had. We made ourselves believe. We created our own demons… we destroy ourselves by continuously feeding our own illusion. In the end, we only end up bringing chaos upon our own. We disappoint ourselves; We devastate ourselves.

We will wake up… day after day, with a faint thought that… something must’ve been broken, because we feel a little empty inside. Or feeling that we’ve just lost a part of us… We’ll catch ourselves sometimes, from time to time, wondering what we’ve been missing because it feels… different. We’ll continue seeking for that something we don’t really know about. Something we can’t… figure out. We’ll continue yearning for that something that we lost, but never had. We’ll die each day knowing that we can no longer find it, have it, or feel it again. We’ll die of nostalgia every time we happen to remember it. That nostalgic sensation is what will make you stay awake at night; it’s what will make you want to cry during the twilight time. It’s what will make you want to dream at sleepless nights… but you can’t, because it’ll become the nightmare you’d want to wake up from. The very reason for every waking hour… or the insomnia for what’s supposed to be just sleeping hours. It’s the nostalgia that will make you miss everything… even the very things that you still have in you. It will make you want to mourn for yourself because it’d feel like you had lost yourself too. It will make you see the sunsets… a little differently. Perhaps you’d see it as romantic, or maybe even more so dramatic that you’d want to cry for it. But it is because you feel like you’re missing something; someone, you don’t even know about. You won’t understand it either. You’ll continue to grieve for something you don’t even know to begin with. It will become your melancholia at night; or eveytime some familiar music plays in the background… You’ll continue wandering about; feeling lost… and broken. You’ll find yourself lost and lonely after waking up from the afternoon nap; not knowing why. You’ll find yourself wanting to cry after that siesta no matter how good that sleep was. You’ll always going to feel homesick at your very own home. You’ll constantly long for that something, you’d want to go home to a place where it used to feel like home… to the point that you’ll forget where you actually are. You’d want to go away; pack your bags and leave. Search for that something. You’d die of waiting. Waiting for that something, someone to come back. You’ll desperately, helplessly, and hopelessly thirst for answer. And then you’d cry, senseless. For answers weren’t bound to come. You’ll come off… lost, defeated. You’ll lose your mind just trying to make sense of everything. Trying to connect the dots, trying to tie every reaped ends. Trying to fix everything. And for a very scarce moment, you’d find yourself wanting to scream, to break out so bad… To cry. We’d want to do it all that we won’t even care if people would deem us as extremely absurd, or nearly insane. Because we are. As a matter of fact, we all are… but we no longer give a damn whatever we may be by that point of time. There always goes the melancholic feeling that makes you want to cry, no matter how random. It’ll become so confusing that tears won’t even come out but you just die inside. It’ll happen little by little… until you slowly, and gradually go nuts. It’ll become your only answer– Madness. We’ll die out of melancholia and nostalgia just every time that something hits us. Before we even know it. We’d find ourselves questioning… everything. 

It will never stop. That sensation is just there. And then we would feel it, perhaps pain, after pain. That twinge that we used to feel inside but constantly ignore. That pain of nostalgia? It’s there, we used to feel a lot of things, a lot of it that we ended up feeling confused; not knowing what exactly is. But truth is, we have so many reasons… that we confuse ourselves, we become overwhelmed and then suddenly we don’t really know exactly or understand properly. 

And then we continue grieving. Continue walking this earth feeling lost, and empty. Floating… wandering. We’re creating our own ghosts. We succumb on endless melancholy. We’ll have a restless soul. We’ll continue waking up, wandering, asking… questioning what we have done wrong, what we’ve been missing out on, and what we have lost… We’ll continue seeking… and grieving for that something. But what really is that something we constantly mourn for that we’re all dying to know, dying to figure out? We continually grieve… and mourn, for the loss… 

Perhaps of ourselves.

We wonder, we seek, we cry… We grieve, we mourn, and we die… because we had lost something. Something very dear to us. We had lost ourselves. We lose ourselves in the process of trying to figure out, trying to fix and trying to make everything alright. Trying to understand… something that was never even meant to be understood in the first place.

And that was our mistake.

We’ve been too caught up in everything so much… And then that everything falls apart; And then that everything disappears… And suddenly, suddenly… we find ourselves hanging in the air; in the middle of nowhere. We don’t know where to stand. We don’t even know what to feel, either. We’re just… floating there. Lost, and empty.

And then we’d wake up each day, feeling broken… And then wander why we feel such emptiness even when we look outside the window and realize that nothing’s ever even changed. But then we’d find ourselves longing… longing for something.

Because no, nothing feels the same.

Emptiness, I guess…

We let go when we couldn’t take it anymore. We surrender to life; surrender to our own questions… issues, and doubts… We give in to life itself.

January 27, 2017 · 1:58am

Sometimes we seemed okay… and we look fine. And everything seems to be just fine…

Until at some point, something hits you and you feel incomplete. You don’t feel whole at all. It’s just that… you’re suddenly feeling empty, and it surely felt like something was missing. Something went missing. It’s so strange; everything doesn’t seem to feel the same anymore. It’s like something’s not right; something was gone. Like… there’s something wrong.

We learn to live a life full of changes. No, I mean… we learn to live and understand that everything change.– and that includes our Life.

We are left on our own. With so many questions that’s ever more baffling than before. We usually pass up, without even understanding a thing… and then eventually give up. We let go when we couldn’t take it anymore. We surrender to life… surrender to our own questions; surrender to all the issues, and doubts. We give in. We… inevitably let it all go for sure. Let it go when we couldn’t grasp our own reality anymore. When we couldn’t hold onto our dreams any longer because it just seems so… unreal. –Ideal. We let go when we can no longer make ourselves believe. Our dreams were perfect, but we’re not. We, by all means, learn that maybe dreaming was just for kids. Oh, the perks of growing up. Or, should I say “downside”?

We are waiting for the answers that will never come.

We continue to seek… and try to find these answers we badly needed to know. And then we consistently ask questions, after questions… That leads into yet another question we could never ever get an answers for. Not even a single one. And frustrating enough, we just can’t stop questioning everything. But answers don’t seem to come easily… while questions were pouring profusely down on us like a fire bullets. It doesn’t seemed to have a sort of cessation.

It’s just that, not everything is all about the answers. But answer is something that counts. It’s something that we need. It’s the only thing that will make our sense to the world. Or, the only thing that would make sense to us in this world. We need answers just as much as we need to live, and breathe. It is something that gives sense to us; it is something that gives us meaning. But it seems to me that… questions were more likely to be served upon us than it is the other way ’round…

Until we eventually doubt everything. We could no longer believe at anything anymore. Because we can’t forever hold onto questions; we can’t trust every sign. We need something more substantial. We need something… real. Something genuine. We need some proof.

But it’s as if life really gives you a proof.

We hadn’t even been given any reason. Not choices anyway. Hell, we hardly even had a little clue. But we cannot hold onto something that’s fleeting… We wanted certainty. But the world has no guarantee if…– everything about it is.. passing through. We cannot ask for it to give us a steadfast life; and a certain reason, when all it knows was changes…

We cannot demand such delusional mirage from something cryptic like Life.

And then we drift, and we roll… and tried everything we could just to get that only one answer we constantly long for. And yet, all we found was nothing. There is nothing. But why the hell does it still have to feel like there has to be something? That there is always something. Something between the lines… There’s something that we can find from behind the walls… from behind the bars… from behind the ruins… from behind the iron gates. From beyond our very own walls.

Because we always feel like there’s something. That there must be something. There is something here for us… Something we can find.. Something we can have… Even something we can own, eventually. There’s always this something…-an urge. An urge to know… The urge to believe. The urge to hope for more… for something. Something that we could never even figure out. And then we end up longing. Longing for something we do not even know… Something we’ve never had. Something we cannot have.

From behind, and beyond the unknown.

Why the hell does it have to feel like there is something to be found behind the unknown?– If you just gotta believe, and be courageous enough to go through it… Or to be eager enough; and be determined enough to want to know. To learn… That’s what I don’t understand about the human life. I don’t understand why everything has to appear so simple, when everything was nothing but complicated. Why does it have to look, and to sound so easy and simple?  Why does it have to pretend to be something it’s not? Why does it even have to fool us? Or, — is it really worth it?

It’ll make you feel like you have to be brave, and face everything… because there is something so precious that’s waiting for you on the other side. Just go, do it. Have courage and do something because life will surely guaranty you for it; for your act of bravery. Like it’ll reward you for striving really hard.

And then we, fool people that we are, of course follow the path. And in the end, there is nothing. It made us feel like there is something waiting for us at the end of the line… and then we held onto it. And we strongly believed that there has to be… there has something in there. That it was true,–there really is something, after all. Something so real… something so marvelous. Something brilliant. And then we get there, and there was nothing. It’s empty. Until we find ourselves on the very same void that we had created, and imagined… Quite similar to the only thing that we found. Empty.

We continue being victimized by our own life. We continue gathering the answers… that we never got. I guess there really is just one certain answer, after all.

Emptiness.

I Was Here

And this is my predicament. I am inadequate, and I have a heart that never wants to stop…. I was lost; but I was here.

December 3, 2016 • 9:37pm

But I was inadequate. 

Incomplete. Shattered, even. There’s not just some missing part of me that’s needed to be fixed. Which I have to find and search for; to look around, grope the floor… and reach for it. I’m freaking broken and ruined. I am a mere remains of fragments, and remnants…and every shredded parts of me, that had been torn away from my old self, due to my palpable disintegration. Of my falling apart; of my collapsing… If I didn’t know better I’d think, and I’d say, I was gone. Already gone. Completely gone. Absolutely gone.

But I was here.

And living only with the tiny bits that was left of me with some strings, trying to hold it back together… And with the merely light beating of a heart that has been ripped out; stomped on, and put back again. A heart that has been exhausted, drained, used up… and all the other synonymous of being empty there is. A heart that never stops pumping; even when it’s bruised, wounded, and scarred. Even when there are still some remaining scraps of debris from the aftermath of the catastrophe… still settling on its every frail parts. Even when the thorn lingers. Even after the blood had ran wild from the cuts; flowed out on the skin… Even after the blood has dried up and the scabs had wear off. It’s still there. Gasping for air; panting for oxygen.

It stayed there. Even after everything. Even after the final blow, and the obliteration took place. It’s still there, even when the incessant chaos went downhill. It’s still there, even when the mind always tried to stop and end its beating. It stays there, even when the sanity is fiddling away… and the mind is lost. It stays still, even when the mind had disappeared; and totally gone. It beats still even when the hopes are dead; and life had stopped. It remains still, even when the existence is overpowered by madness… and all is invaded by numbness.

Oh, God. It’s unstoppable.

It doesn’t care whether I already want it to stop and get some rest. It keeps beating, and beating…and beating. And the mere sound of it is perhaps what irks me the most, I suppose. It sounded too little, and yet had the greatest impact even against the chaotic sound of my mind. That no matter how much I listen and agree to my very own mind, it just keeps surfacing no matter what. It persists. It beats still. It beats. Beats everything.

And this is my predicament. I had a docile mind that’s willing to give in anytime I want. A chaotic mind that was always so lost, but still a smart companion. And I had this heart that breathes for survival. No matter what…

A heart that never leaves me even when my mind often does.

I was inadequate and I have lost all the hope to be ever become complete again. I’ve lost it all… –the hope, the chance, that I would perhaps feel whole again someday…

I want for this maladay to stop; I want this dearth to end… But I can never stop this thing in my chest that pumps blood on veins that carries oxygen. An absolute danger; my greatest foe.

That’s the thing about me. I am inadequate, and I have a heart that never wants to stop.

I was lost; and I was here.

Indifference and Madness

They say that we have our own volition… but I could not believe them; I do not choose to think, but I cannot escape these thoughts.

November 28, 2016 · 10:16pm

I have this thing in mind… a very chaotic notion; perhaps some kind of oppression… that had been going on in my mind lately. Or shall I say, — every now and then. And it’d since then been aggravating me a lot, but I couldn’t quite figure out what it is; nor what to do about it. 

My thoughts are a mess. And I am a disaster. I subconsciously do things I know I wouldn’t really do on purpose. They say that we have our own volition… but I could not believe them; I do not choose to think, but I cannot escape these thoughts. I had given up hope on everything; I couldn’t care less whatever happens. I do not care about anything. At all. I could probably go past these torment and out of such predicament without shedding a tear from the eye; without even a single cringe. I wasn’t stranger to pain, but I wasn’t numb, either. Or so I thought; because I know I shouldn’t. I am indifferent and I wasn’t supposed to be. I am human and was supposed to feel. Because if I don’t, what would be the point of being alive, then? 

But still, I could screw the world over, and shut people out without looking back and feeling a thing. Not even a guilt. I felt nothing. But… how come? I want nothing, feel nothing. I am nothing. How could I? I am dangerously empty. Hollow, even. I am the void that wraps up my very own.

Perhaps this was indifference.

Maybe I was only stoic because I am no stranger to all this; it’s not at all new to me. It couldn’t surprise me more… I’m so used to all these. –so sick and fed up. I’ve grown jaded enough already to still give a damn. These no longer bother me,– in any way. Not even a little. I can never be more affected; let alone upset. That despite all the unpredictability of life… I still know what’s going to happen in the end. It always goes down to one thing. That exact same thing.

And I still do not know… whatever was the causation of these improbable shambles of my own thoughts… Or whether it was only a state of happenstance; a chance. But knowing so would never really do, either. And knowing would be the end of me. Half the time… I was usually presented by the answers I do not want to know; the truths I do not seek. And maybe that’s the reason why I’m such a mess. I’m constantly being trapped in my very own chaotic thoughts like I always did.

But I cannot understand if this was just me, merely jaded. Or I, in the face of indifference. But I am both; the life proved me so. And it remains indefinite whether or not I just really know life well enough, and accepted that everything is passing through. That we are all just passing through… Or maybe things just stopped mattering so much. Because it turned out to be the norm, and nothing matters anymore…

And I’ve settled in my own chasm; and have forgotten how to live… Because doing so would never really make any difference. I was absolutely jaded to the point that I couldn’t even recognize my very own existence and what would I ever live for. 

There is nothing. There is nothing here for me. I merely exist… that is all; nothing more. And perhaps, saying so would give life a reason to get me back my sanity. A little mercy, maybe? But no, not really. Being obliterated was no reason to take away this existential madness. –The life might say.