ramblings

We think we are the ones who know our life best. But when it comes to it, we are so blinded. What we like, how someone feels about us, how we feel about them. How important they are to us. What we see, what we don't see, what we remember, what others remember of us. All these relations to ourselves, yet we are more muddled than ever.

I thought maybe there was an arrow pointing to you, now there isn't, someday that arrow might come back, maybe not in the Form of Cupid's, maybe in something else. When conversation flows, gentle and easy, we are never in a better state of clarity, but these crystal moments are so rare, and when they come we don't do anything with them anyway.

That's not true. Maybe we do mold them in some way, hold them in our memories maybe, with our biased feelings tinging over, like a sticky syrup that never quite compares to the freshness of what was.

Looking back, (or is it looking forward, or looking at what is not here?), that is all I do. To live in the present is so hard. To truly live and not think, to think and not overanalyze, to do and not talk about doing. These are such struggles.

Struggles I've hoped to find elsewhere, yet when I do, find them so hideous, and they me. It's such an ugly mess. Turn yourself away from what is not Beautiful. Is that the solution to such a cycle? To what extent does the psychology of your actions matter in the face of such forces, forces that feel outside your power.

Or maybe they have always been in my power to stop, but somehow I've found something attractive in wallowing in it.

I wish these thoughts could articulate themselves better. (They take the action here, not me, because once they come here, their existence no longer belong to me.) These fingers just type, and the stream takes over when I'm not sure I make sense to a society outside myself.

That is all, I think, so for now, I turn away from nothingness.

When philosophers enter a forest, there are no more trees.

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