Thinking.

Wasting away like a Renaissance painting. My paint chips are falling; you can see my cards now. Not hurt but I feel this void, a hole. An unsatisfied hunger for something I’m not sure yet. I can’t quite put my finger on what it is. Friends claim it’s my consciousness urging for love.

HA! Love, isn’t that a wonderful feeling so I’ve HEARD.

Love never meets me half way. Not everyone can be like Elizabeth Bennet, the reality of love is that of Miss Havisham and Charollete Lucas. I blame all these talks about love because I’m vanishing into thinking of it. That disturbs me because I never really did, well I’m lying a tad. I have undergone those questions but not deeply or clearly. Now when I actually look back into it I’m saddened and disturbed. I can’t understand how I let myself feel this way.

The feeling of fatigue and confusion dominate and make me tired not only physically but mentally. As if this urge for something real to feel is demanding too much of my sanity. Sleep doesn’t provide any comfort or escape it rather drains me. It's exhausting to just think especially when there are so many questions and very few answers. Answers that raise more questions in the long run so you’re not moving forward but backwards. I want my mind to stop being a circus, juggling acts and putting shows for all, the training of animal instincts is too much,
I just want clarity.

Since my mind is too clouded to think. Blurred memories of yesterday I don’t know how to relieve this overheated mind! So what do I do? Neglect obligations of my mind in order to fit in this world or pay attention to everyone else’s while juggling my own because no one allows themselves to burden with these questions. Instead of confronting them, you pass them on like a torch, bring the light into parts of myself I just don’t want to go.