"I just enjoy driving on my own these days. Maybe it's the solitude, maybe it's the time I have all to myself. Maybe it's the fact that I'm surrounded by people and yet I am alone. Not lonely. Alone.
Also, the fact that I can see the sky, the sun, the dusty roads, the movement. But not the people.
I wonder what it's like to be in the world and beyond it.
I am obviously not ready to give up the comforts of the world-my home, my things, my books, my music, love of parents and friends, my bed.
I really need to organise my thoughts.
I should stop I-ing now.
Indistinguishable hours blur into days
Uncredited breaths, one at a time, ignored
The silent decision to pull through
is remembered at a time when its necessity is forgotten
You forge on, blindly, mundanely
Pat yourself on the back
I think the problem lies in the fact that I'm confused whether to renounce or succeed. I unconsciously make a list of qualities deemed vital to either of these two distinct personalities and I land nowhere between the two, a semi-silent confused and confusing enigma to my own self.
This medley-fied nothing thus follows no one but seeks approval from everyone. Has opinions sometimes. Voices them, rarely.
I am scared to analyse the mess for it leads to depression but I find myself thinking about me more often than not. Though I know that a week or a year from now, I most definitely would not want to read this trash.
So, what do I write about when my heart has not been twanged by any major earthly issue?
Do not fear me, I am solitude
Seek nothing from me, I am love
Search not for me, I am happiness
Live for me, I am God
I sit back and revel in my brilliance. I pack my bag without saying a word to the world. I live a life so invisible that I myself rarely acknowledge it.
Am I so detached from this life that everyone so boldly embraces that I cannot formulate a simple, fictitious tale even for the sole purpose of distracting myself?
Yes, that's probably it"