It is quiet. That may be a good thing, depending; perhaps my brain has worn itself out for once, and it resorts to rest as a last recourse. I had somewhat of a manic depressive weekend, and I am examining in myself one of my dreams. I am wondering if I am kidding myself, whether it is possible for this mere mortal to find something groundbreaking, something truly original. I guess I feel a little wounded. This is human, though, right? To be uncertain what the future brings, considering whether or not fate has nothing grand planned for me after all, to walk through life a little heartbroken? This quiet, this touch of despair: it too will pass, I think, but not yet, not until I learn something from it.
It is a pause, that I may reflect for a moment. What do I really want out of life? When in the motions of desire fulfillment, one may not stop long enough to wonder why; when one is moving, sometimes we do not question just what it is that moves us. Yes, vague notions are always there, things that, if one does not think about them, make sense enough to press on with. Thus, perhaps, has this quiet reason to be. I will not despair of my despair, I will not lose hope of hope. I will look to find myself once again; I must have changed since my last discovery, after all, and my notions of passion must need retuning. I have a moment to myself, no need to justify me to anyone around me. It is quiet.
me?!