Stillness permeates my being right now, still uncertain about how to proceed, where to go next. It’s always next. Just when you think you can stand where you are at this moment, something else comes along to spoil the fun.

You can’t fucking win.

I still sit mystified by the process by which humankind manages to pair off, whether male and female, male and male, or female and female. I can’t help think that there is some evolutionary purpose for this solitariness, this singularity.

This, of all things, was meant to be.

Maybe.

I keep hoping I’m wrong.

Still, my mind is troubled by this stillness, this not giving a shit about anything anymore. I want to live, not cower in this silence that is my soul, shrinking upon itself, collapsing into this pinpoint impossibility, the incomprehensible density of my maniacal thoughts warping the substance of spacetime itself.

I think it’s terrible that I stopped making any sort of sense a long time ago.

And even in the silence, the words come in restless waves, crashing upon this empty shore with mindless ferocity. Even in the stillness, the words keep flowing through, sometimes splashing me with inspiration, but most of the time, perturbing me, setting my mind a-spinning.

I try to comfort myself with the notion that none of this is supposed to make any sense, although this notion always rings false.

Dissecting the past yields similar worthlessness. I can tread and retread the buildup to the madness, and it still makes no sense. I’m like a mugging victim, robbed of any modicum of comprehension. I just don’t fucking get it. I mean, what the hell was the point if there was nothing I could’ve done about it? (Or is that just something I tell myself, because if I face the awful truth, that I was tested and failed, could I continue to live with myself?)

But realistically, it doesn’t matter one goddamn bit. I’m as good as doomed, anyway.

(Oh I wish you didn’t have to leave, but I’m not ever gonna be the one to be able to convince you to stay.)

Words. Who needs ‘em?