And there it is again, that old reliable surge of feeling spreading out from nowhere, from my chest, emanating like a true mystery from nothingness and everything.
It would be so lovely to know just for a moment that others have this presence too.
For crying out loud, how much do we all feel this and have no understanding that others feel it too? Please, someone tell me I'm not exaggerating when I imagine that we are all banging our heads up against the same dense, immovable surface attempting to see the things we cannot ever see, to know the things we can never know....
Is this just some useless quest? Is it meaningless?
Dangit.
So tired of these ruminations. Rumination is indeed perhaps the most fitting word to use. Every definition fits.
If people are like different cells in a body, why did I have to be this particular cell? To suffer so needlessly on these thoughts, these feelings, when other cells are content without them?
No judgement here meant, just observation, only tempered a bit with some fleeting, awkward pretense of jealousy and despair. Underneath these thoughts I do not have any true discourse.
Why can't I just sit and be, fully? I must examine all of these thoughts and feeling so tirelessly and without ceasing... to the point of total excess. Even now these words are becoming more and more of an exercise in futility that I am becoming exasperated and bored as I type them.
Why am I still typing?
This is my life when I lose focus? Focus? Huh? What is there that is worth focusing on? Someone remind me before I lose the plot completely here...
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