What is it about our endless search for something else?
Something to fill the gap, something to fit into that gaping melancholic hole which is until now unknown.
What meaning am I looking for?
What exactly can make us...me happy?
Pain can't always be the proof which will argue for me that I'm still alive. That is to say very obvious. It'll be sado-masochistically painful. Something even me will soon cant bear. Then what now? Pain is the only thing out there that is abundant. Intentionally searched or not. Pleasure fleeting...too fast to be grasped.
I know someday boredom will eventually reach me. I better run.
No comments:
Post a Comment