My incertitude and happiness cannot coexist.
People have time and again failed me even with the littlest faith invested upon them and I fail myself when I invest any faith upon people. To think all these years would have taught me a thing or two about any manner of control and perseverance.
Self disgust is a funny matter. One only channels their love to others while filth and hate occupies its crater.
The sort of happiness which emerges out of nowhere- or rather, we are not sure why it’s in the nature that it is- tends to hide sinister things under its carefree grin. It’s got dormant insanity stored away behind the cloaks and curtains hide angst the sizes of mountains.
Man can only be content at the place where he finds balance in everything. Of course, different people’s balances lie at different positions in their lives, thus a suitable middle ground consisting of ying and yang is one’s optimum position- even if not the desired one. For too much passion burns man to the ground, and too less leaves man disoriented; too much riches lead man into dystopia and too less leaves man unwanted. It is at the balance where the absurd becomes tolerable and despair is a little less. Man searches for authenticity and meaning in himself all throughout life… perhaps, from a place where some sort of assurance exists, they wouldn’t be very hard to find.
A goodbye will stare at you right in the face but you’ll feel it in the stomach. You will feel it punching out of your diaphragm, shattering your rib cage as it fights for the life to make itself known and believed the only way it knows how to. Painfully.
Goodbyes do not carry blessings with them. It is human nature to romanticize pain.
It doesn’t have to be on nights so late that early morning peeks when you realize that you’ve lost yourself. It can be any fleeting moment- now, then, whenever- when you realize the person within you is someone you have difficulties recognizing and before you know it you’ve caught a ball inside your throat and your jaw is giving in, your face is giving in, your eyes are giving in, your tears are pouring out. You’ll realize the things that you remember which made you who you were are long gone from your life, and you’ll find that you don’t even want them back.
But how does one build on themselves when the foundation itself proves to be tenuous? With what does one proceed when all that remains are empty hands?