i don’t really have any interesting words left to describe how i’m feeling lately. i’m completely uninspired to speak or exist or try thinking about my world any differently than how it seems; bleak, dull, grey, cracked, covered in dirt, stinging. i don’t want to say anything about myself anymore, i don’t want to let myself believe i deserve to be spoken about. that my life and my days are shitty enough to even bother addressing. it could always be worse, right. feeling hopeless? feel like crying? so does everybody else.

it seems pointless to force myself to write any of this. used to make me feel better to place all my words out in front of me, neatly. doesn’t anymore. i have nothing worthwhile to say. i’m still a gaping wound but i’m closing up now, scarring over, like i should’ve done years ago. i feel embarrassed letting anyone know i think anything at all. these past four months and recent years have retaught me how little i matter. how unimportant my molecules are, how insignificance my existence is on the grand scale of everything. still, i somehow feel smaller than that. less than insignificant, like i don’t even deserve to be a tiny blip in a single blinking of time. what a selfish thing to feel.

people keep asking me about plans and goals and all the things i might want in the future. i don’t know how to tell them i have none. to tell them that i don’t expect to be alive past 25, that i’m waiting for my own self-hatred to kill me, inevitably. i keep failing at every stage of my life. i don’t deserve to become anything. my greatest fear is my own mediocrity and i swim in it every day. every single thing i do seems incomplete, almost enough but never quite. how am i supposed to live with myself knowing i’ll never be as good as i should’ve been.

i say all this, and stay anyways, somehow. i stick around for the next sunrise, the next snowfall, the next shadow on a brick wall to ponder, hoping it’ll revive some long lost childish instinct to revel in the beauty of life. but i can’t seem to reach it anymore, and it gets further and further away the older i get. so i keep chasing it, that feeling, that fraction of a second where nothing matters but the miracle of existence. where all thought can be cured by the dazzling sun, all pain be healed by the lustrous moon, all nonsense be hushed by the rush of life as it swoops past my ears and cradles me softly. but things are happening all around me, and i feel nothing. nothing at all. things happen and i live side by side with them, uncaring. the sun still beats, the moon still glows. the world still moves and it gives me nothing. but i force myself onwards. where else is there to go.