maybe it's just the fact that i've slept 2 hours, no more than 15 minutes contiguously, in the past 40 hours, but i keep getting this "squeaky" feeling in my head, kind of like the sound of metal scraping against metal. the hypochondriac in me keeps worrying about blowing a blood vessel in my brain, but i really don't feel good.
what is it like to have that sense of purpose, that burning force, that blessed fire, that animates your sinews? what is it like to desire, keeping you whole even against the shearing forces of adversity, the crushing weight of the universe, the downward pull of futility?
what is it like to be driven by the brilliant clarity of wanting, even against insurmountable odds, even against all reason? what is it like—i think i knew once upon a time, before time itself grew treacherous—to be able to hope when there is no hope?
the will to fight, when fate tries to suffocate you, when fortune seeks to break every bone in your body?
i am much too young and certainly nowhere near wise enough to be considered old, but definitely not young enough to not know any better. these days, i just want to lie down and grow still, let destiny maul me, let inevitability rend me limb from limb, scattering the sparks of my soul, flickering out and fading into bitter ash.
if i still knew how to dream, days like today wouldn't faze me at all.