For some reason, I find it strange that silence and solitude can reveal so many things. Or tangle them up even more.
I suppose that depends on where your thoughts are.
I used to think that there's so many things that we can change, that everyone was destined to make the world a better place. Now I think that we were just meant to, for lack of a better word, be.
Exist.
I feel like I've been sleep walking all of my life, dreaming of things that aren't there.
But there's moments, like now, alone in the dark, that I wake up. I wake up and I want to change my life, make it better. I want to be able to say that I'm doing my best.
But I can't say that. I'll never be able to say that. Best can always be better.
And that's when I fell like I've run out if things to say.
There's so much I want to do. See. Feel. There's so much I want to be. So much I want to say. But I struggle to find the words; see,
Word is harmless. Meaning never will be.
Each sentence becomes a battle, they fight to escape. I feel like they're limited. Words, I mean.
Counted out. Numbered.
And I'm scared. Scared of what will happen when they run out, scared of what I will be when my life is quite literally unspeakable.
I'm scared because I don't want my life to end in the middle of a goddamn sentence.
I'm not sure if that makes me a coward. Or rational. Or both. All I know is that I
