Ennui

It’s amazing how empty life can feel. Everything is so quiet, so very quiet in the eye of the hurricane. I’m rendered immobile, paralyzed by uncertainties. How can I ever be secure of the future if I can’t even be sure of what would happen tomorrow? How do I prepare for the inconsistencies that others throw in my face? How do I connect with others if there is no common ground?

I am alone again, listening to the monotonic sounds. I never thought that I’d be able to bear the loneliness but I always have. You feel, you think that you might die from the silence, but then you find that you don’t. You just carry on living. For what, I don’t know. Can there be a purpose when nothing at all seems significant?

I am standing at the precipice of my existence, looking down at the unfathomable depth of my own darkened mind. Where do I go from here? What do I do next? Does it matter to anyone? Does it matter to me, even?

I’ve always felt a discontent in my heart, a yearning for something I can’t even name. Is this one of those modern-life anxieties, something to worry about when there really isn’t? I feel pushed down, burdened by material obligations and worldly demands. My soul is sick. What mixture should I down to cure it? Is there a pill I can take?

I am standing here forlorn, disconnected. I am at a point where nothing and nobody can touch me yet they all do. My head is heavy, my thoughts unclear. My breathing is affected by each sentiment that pushes me further into the grim tunnels of insanity.

I long for a shoulder to lean on, a familiar face in the crowd. I wish for an anonymous hand to pull me out of my reverie. Try to understand me before you judge me. All these seemingly inconsequential whines of someone who seems to have everything yet never to have enough. Tell me what more am I looking for.

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