I sometimes want to write about nothing. You know, just write. Not let your idea slip from my mind into my pen to finally reach my paper. No no. I just want to write about not writing you. I want to be nothing like you. Okay, here I am writing about you again..
I want to dig deep into the nothingness within me and hold its hand to pull it to the surface so that I would look like I'm a superficial object (not a human being) to my world. What is my world anyways?
I cling to leaving, which is like a mirage, I just can't cling to something that requires my walking behind it, we'd both be running in endless circles. If that makes sense, you know?
I died once, from thinking of too many things at the same time that my mind nearly exploded and my thoughts were seizing inside of it. I died inside. I was hollow. Although somehow, killing every thought was a victory. Like being reborn to right what was wrong all this time. I just felt the dreadful pain of a seizure. It was horrible.
I don't really know who I am now, I just want to think of nothing for the moment. I want to let you guide me to your simple thoughts, at least the ones that appear on your face.
Oh, you again.
I don't know how to talk about nothing. I don't know how to be nothing without pain, without agony. Full of pride. I wonder how some people live proudly ignorant.
I wonder. This is not me. This is not me.
Hello?
How can you be so good at running away from yourself? No. I'm not okay.
I want to dig deep into the nothingness within me and hold its hand to pull it to the surface so that I would look like I'm a superficial object (not a human being) to my world. What is my world anyways?
I cling to leaving, which is like a mirage, I just can't cling to something that requires my walking behind it, we'd both be running in endless circles. If that makes sense, you know?
I died once, from thinking of too many things at the same time that my mind nearly exploded and my thoughts were seizing inside of it. I died inside. I was hollow. Although somehow, killing every thought was a victory. Like being reborn to right what was wrong all this time. I just felt the dreadful pain of a seizure. It was horrible.
I don't really know who I am now, I just want to think of nothing for the moment. I want to let you guide me to your simple thoughts, at least the ones that appear on your face.
Oh, you again.
I don't know how to talk about nothing. I don't know how to be nothing without pain, without agony. Full of pride. I wonder how some people live proudly ignorant.
I wonder. This is not me. This is not me.
Hello?
How can you be so good at running away from yourself? No. I'm not okay.
