Describing a fear is an unusual thing; it becomes a reminiscence of what you never wish to encounter. Then again, it also gives you a reminder of what you seemingly intent to avoid. Nevertheless, sometimes, once in a while, as frequently as the mind can stand, one must encounter fear. By doing so, the simple fear is what remains, and the possibilities are as stable as the pages chosen to disengage them. They will remain in those pages, comfortably living a life of mystery and thought, until the action overdoes the thought and the fear becomes a memory itself.
I forget whether I ever wanted this. Was I ever as foolish as to actually desire this suffering? Was I as blind as to think that everything would work out fine?
I should own up to every little detail of everything that has occurred during these past five months, I should. Another disappointment; another let-down; yet, I cannot believe I even had hopes for this great dissatisfaction; it is a completely unbelievable act which I frown upon myself now.
And, once again, I attempt to escape it all. Why is it that nothing ever turns out the way it should? Why can’t I, most of all, conform to what I have received – a friendship?
Who killed the future? Who made it into what it is now? It certainly couldn’t have been me? Me – is that all I talk about – myself? When did I become the centre of it all; the challenger of the future; the devourer of the past? Have I been so crude? It pains me to think of all this, believe you me; I have absolutely no idea why I make myself the centre of it all. For now, I trust myself to know that within the psychedelic rapture that is a life, one will always be the main specter. I do not know why it is so. I do not know many things, yet, it seems, that, what I do know, constrains me, not what I don’t. It is a pity that it has become this way. My enchanted nothingness has betrayed me – trapped me within its regime. It seeks to punish me for I do seek from outside its four walls. All these thoughts, they are too much for me, at this very moment. All they seem to do is restrain me and separate me from the people whom I most appreciate. It repulses me, what I have become. It was always my full intention to leave this place as soon as I found a reason to, but, here I lay, with reasons left to spare, yet leave I cannot, and will not. Suppose it sufficient to say that I wait for something, although I am not quite sure of what. I am a foolish person; that I cannot deny.