Nonsense

There were and are plenty of people that could fall off the face of the earth who I’d not miss. Maybe that sounds mean but it’s true. For all the parts of me that are warm there are others buried beneath icebergs in worlds where there’s no sun.

Everyone gets the chance to walk away and not look back. For all the times I used a rearview mirror instead of turning around there is no regret. It’s those times I turned around and pretended to be someone else that fuels regret and what of her? You could dress her in the fanciest of silks and still she’d carry the weight of ugliness. I’m still gathering the rage needed to murder because her ashes will serve more as soot in the ocean than as feather-like mountains clouding the caverns of my mind.

Someone stronger and more self-assured. That’s who I pretended to be. Someone whose philosophies were the totality of their daily activities. Someone who needed no one. That stillness is a profession of fear – the same fear that drives men to lose their inhibitions and assassinate beauty for its reflective gaze.

What is the point of running in any direction when each cell has no preference for where it’ll be divided? Something about zeroes and ones calms me.

Surely I’m missing the point of being alone and balanced between gratitude and melancholy.