(no subject)
What is there to do when you realize calmly that there is no useful reason for you to continue drawing breath? When last was there?
I feel so old. So worn. Almost frivolous. Every once in a while, I am a very tired old man. In the morning, I will have forgotten this feeling of pointlessness. Maybe.
A girl I love for now asked me why I was always smiling, a few days ago. Maybe I only smiled because she was around. Maybe I'd just been sad for long enough. I suppose not, I'm crying now. Every day I was over there I would numb myself to this feeling with drugs. They worked for a while. Does she still matter to me? I feel ancient. I remember a thousand lives and loves, though I have never seen them. Manifold births and deaths, wars and times of prosperity, the rising and the falling of many civilizations before my eyes and upon my lips, though never have I encountered them.
One lover does not seem so immediate, so important, so big. She is here now, as am I. The ancient eyes blink. We are swept away with the multitudes. A dusty memory never experienced, but remembered.
I can see faces. Faces of joy, with minimal lines marking great expectations. Faces of hope, creased by hardship but still facing upward and forward. Faces of anger, narrowed and dark awaiting the perfect moment. Faces of sorrow, downcast and filled with shadows.
The old face. I have seen each of these so many times I cannot help but recall the spectrum of emotion each face has symbolized. Each has its effect, but only in a small and quiet way. One can only see a young boy laugh so many times before it is only a young boy laughing. One can only see a tired couple argue so many times before it is only a tired couple arguing. One can only see a bright dream die so many times before it is only another dream dieing.
Quiet, dim, muffled, bland. Perhaps the mountain only stays a mountain because it does not know what else to do.
I feel so old. So worn. Almost frivolous. Every once in a while, I am a very tired old man. In the morning, I will have forgotten this feeling of pointlessness. Maybe.
A girl I love for now asked me why I was always smiling, a few days ago. Maybe I only smiled because she was around. Maybe I'd just been sad for long enough. I suppose not, I'm crying now. Every day I was over there I would numb myself to this feeling with drugs. They worked for a while. Does she still matter to me? I feel ancient. I remember a thousand lives and loves, though I have never seen them. Manifold births and deaths, wars and times of prosperity, the rising and the falling of many civilizations before my eyes and upon my lips, though never have I encountered them.
One lover does not seem so immediate, so important, so big. She is here now, as am I. The ancient eyes blink. We are swept away with the multitudes. A dusty memory never experienced, but remembered.
I can see faces. Faces of joy, with minimal lines marking great expectations. Faces of hope, creased by hardship but still facing upward and forward. Faces of anger, narrowed and dark awaiting the perfect moment. Faces of sorrow, downcast and filled with shadows.
The old face. I have seen each of these so many times I cannot help but recall the spectrum of emotion each face has symbolized. Each has its effect, but only in a small and quiet way. One can only see a young boy laugh so many times before it is only a young boy laughing. One can only see a tired couple argue so many times before it is only a tired couple arguing. One can only see a bright dream die so many times before it is only another dream dieing.
Quiet, dim, muffled, bland. Perhaps the mountain only stays a mountain because it does not know what else to do.