Midnight Musings

8/3/16

Within me, I have a constant sense that time is fleeting. That there is not enough time in the world to do everything I want to do. It's like an internal clock that got all fucked up because all you see is that a single year goes by in the blink of an eye, so what does that make twenty years? Slightly more than a second?

Here you are standing, looking back, and so many moments are already lost. Gone with the wind. And you're older. You're closer to the day in which you will no longer be in existence. And it's only the cold hard reality that all of us will reach a point in which our past stretches further in time than our futures.

Remember when you were complimented for being so skinny? When a wrinkled old lady would come up to you simply to reminisce, about how she too was once thin and beautiful? Or a first mom getting advice soon becomes the one with with a truckload of experiences and is no longer so fresh faced and innocent? Roles switch and we are helpless to the passage of time.

It all ends. And I suppose purpose is given within different experiences, such as a fulfilling career, or the raising of children, or finally finding the love of your life and traveling the world. What then, though, when you retire? When your children grow up and leave? Your spouse dies and you can no longer travel? We go right back to crushing emptiness and debilitating sadness.

I don't know what the purpose of life is. I don't see one. It all ends. We all die, we all fucking stop breathing and our lungs collapse and we stop pumping blood through our veins. Why does the future matter when the future is still obsolete for each individual? Why is it a sense of wholeness and unity when still, that future is obsolete? Why do we live only to die, with the future generation hoping they don't live in the time when the sun dies? We all want to leave a legacy.

We all want to be remembered for everything we achieved, the goals we met and the obstacles we overcame. But who the fuck cares when eventually all of us will cease to exist and no legacies will be remembered because any brains that could have stood the test of time to retain the memories are in their last stages of putrefaction? Life is just a stupid & silly game that kills us in the end and leaves the rest of us with nothing but memories, and the notion that within a few years we won't fucking matter anymore either. So why is it so damn heartbreaking if I just want to beat life to its own end?

We won't be young & beautiful forever. Most lives will always be dictated by pulverizing sadness. My sense of time is still fleeting. I see no purpose in life.

So what the fuck now?

•1:21am