This is the month of love, not because of Valentine's day. For other reasons. I still think he's great but he has his doubts.
I don't blame him. It's been a tough go. There's this hole I got myself into and sometimes I want out also. At least I want help.
I'm tired and guilty and frustrated and tired.
I look around and it isn't where it should be and everything is in the wrong place, piled high about itself. There doesn't seem to be an end or a way to dig my way out. Only a final end to fear and not care about.
I can understand the wanting. Hoping there is something "on the other side". The other side of what? Of existence? Of course it is ridiculous to assume there is anything other than this. But there is a hope that drives so many people and it is infectious and maybe even a bit necessary.
After all, there would be a whole lot of people that would become paralyzed with lack of motivation to function if they really knew that the only thing waiting for them after death is nothingness. A complete and utter lack of being, including themselves.
That fear and longing and ego all goes 'poof' like a smoke. Poof.
Is there maybe a vapour? Like when you put out a candle and then there is that trail of smoke and that smell that lasts a little while until it is adequately diffused into the surrounding atmosphere? Probably. But that's all it is. A remnant of something that was. It can't hurt or want or do or create. It is dissipating and perfectly devoted to the act of becoming unthere.
You have to go on and argue and fight and be because we as a group have come up with distractions as we wait for nothing to arrive. We have to want to care because life will exist until it stops and we aren't the ones to decide if it does. But when it does, it will just ... not be ...
