I'm bored and it's 3 AM. What better time for a bonafide journal update?
Only I have s**t all to talk about so that's kinda pointless.
I'm sitting here listening to Sacred Moon and being all faux-nostalgic (whatever the hell that means) and thinking about how I've turned into such a jerk lately. All things I used to care about have been consumed, crushed up, and spat out. I honestly don't know anymore whether to praise such or resent it. It's like my heart has become stone to all but a very select amount of things which I have thrust onto a pedestal and cherish with every fiber of my being. It is only to these scant things that I truly belong, I suppose.
I feel kinda bad for those who are caught in the crossfire. Try as they may to invoke pity or interest from me, I only bat an eye at them at best. I suppose no really understands that underneath this facade there lies such an intense loneliness that I cannot begin to explain it. Yet the loneliness is self-inflicted, sadly. Strange, isn't it?
Maybe I'm just tired of peoples' petty problems. Ironic since I have so many of my own. But I'm searching for something more important in life then that. There's a longing which drives me forwards and urges me to seek it out. All I ever catch are dappled shadows under the moon that rarely assume a form I can identify with, but disappear before I can call it by name. Still I am foolish enough to pursue it.
I'm not unhappy. Nay, I am far from it. Happiness is in reach of a single utter, a laugh over some pittance, a dream that eludes me but I cradle close to my breast and whisper sweet longings to. A smile from a friend that is still tangible to me, or a simple conversation with someone who also does not feel disconnected. It is only those outside the haze I allow to see inside me, and likewise. Yet the haze grows stronger with each passing day. I feel as though I wander a plane where others can still interact with me, but ever they are unaware that I am not beside them. Even my consciousness is baffled.
But I'm not unhappy. I repeat this only because I'm insistent on this. It is a truth, though it is a wonder. Maybe I have been touched upon by that shadow, providing me with this contentment, this ethereal existence.
Still, isn't parting ever bittersweet?
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These are the records of certain occurrences and musings in my life. It is probably not of much importance to you, unless you enjoy being a sleuth or have some vague interest in listening to me prattle about my flavour-of-the-month.
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