truth

This is the first time I wrote something down and kept it. Brutally honest, more than I am to myself.


Be gentle.

Okay. I'm just gonna do it.

This is the first in hopefully many entries into what I cannot describe as anything specific. In here, there will be my thoughts, actions, re-actions and conclusions, but not exclusively. In other words – these are my doodles.

I lose days, perhaps weeks to this nasty habit of mine. Watching the sun rise and feeling a refreshing wave of energy just gives me a naughty feeling of shame. I have nothing to wake up for, not in the suicidal or depressed sense, but in the sense of which there is no difference between right now, tomorrow or next week.

The act of doing something has lost meaning along with the feeling of free time – which doesn’t actually exist – sucks me down to the lowest pit of my imagination.

Even now, as I so-called "try" to change back into what I was, way back when I had something. Anything.

Distance is a deceiving mistress, time meshes together. The real difference is how much you miss it, how long you think about owning it, whatever it may be.

For me, it's not about the actual achievement, I think. It's not about how I got there either, I'm assuming. Rather the way I feel right here right now. The impatience and self awareness of a little child.

As I look around, for memories, for thoughts and ideas, I can't help but think about thinking and how immensely boring it is. Theme of the day – grey.

And so I lie awake, thinking, dreaming, wishing and fantasizing about a girl. A girl to live for, die for, care for and go crazy for. I know she waits for me too, wherever she may be. The distance once more, not physically, but existentially tugging at my being.

These lost feeling rushing up to surface this barren template of an existence of which I wake up to nightly. The consistent dealings of such fruitless nonsense and inconsequential discussions methodically smear my window to life, to see, to remember what I miss most. The agonizing hope that something will rescue me from it, some sort of angel. Divine I am not, at best you can say I am not the devil.

I've hidden it well, but at what cost. The chance to change this damned structure lies within – I'm sure – but I fear to think of what will answer when I knock on this door that has stayed closed for so long. Or so it feels. Without truth there is no lie, therefore with this blinding white truth that I uncover and dust off, I may be led to lie.

I hope I wont regret putting this up.