I'm running faster than I ever have ran before. Nothing can catch up with me, not even the thoughts I am creating. I am running, lost, in a frenzy from border to border, in the world that I created for myself. The world I had created where I thought everything would be greener and greater than I encountered before. The only way to know that we have met greatness is to leave our everyday and to realise what actually takes us away.
I am flying from place to place in grandeur, to make use of the fuel that brought our society from the barbaric to the splendorous. I am spending in place and place in extravagance, to make use of the fortunes that that brought us from the poverty to the comfort. I am doing what they want. I am perpetuating the system. I am living how they all wish they could live. I am prodigal at the expense of the frugal world, I am shameless at the jealousy of the mortal world,I am forever-moving and never content. The only way to escape yourself is to move faster and faster until you cannot keep up with your consciousness.
I thought that loneliness could be avoided by distraction, by busyness. I did not know that the eternal toil of convincing myself that no one is caring for me is what drives me to the true insanity, and which drives me to try and seek the attention that I believe could lift myself to self-liberation. My stories are so infinitesimally small that no one else could ever care. The idea of being cared for is greater than the attention brought upon myself by the people who actually care. The only way to avoid caring too much for other’s care is by actually caring for myself.
Did you know, that in some other life, where we would not have the same ceilings, we would have had the chance to create– and to be different from the generations before us –to create something for which other people would actually remember us. But the ingenuity that we could have is constrained by our eternal schedule that binds us to our everyday.
The only way to know one could be different is to make waves in the pond in which he was never welcomed. The only way to make waves in my world is to be great, and then it shall be only to make peaks and troughs to keep you afloat in the increasingly hostile sea.
I am running faster than I have ever ran before. No one can catch up with me, not even the feelings I am upsetting. I am running, lost, more lost than ever before.
I wish I could find myself with you. But you are still, slightly more at peace with yourself. Your company will take me away from the race and to an escape in which I usually only sometimes, but increasingly more often, indulge myself. I hope that I could achieve some moderation in my own conscience.
The nondescript harshness persists in all directions from where I stand, a sea of bland realisation that lingers into the beyond but also threatens to dissolve into the nothingness. I am scared to disappear into the precipice from which so few resolve.
I am compelled to journey hastily to the limits of my dreams, and back, in good time. I want do this over and over to avoid living out any of the false destinies that pull me forwards, or rather somewhere, so I may start new, although not fresh, each time, and time again, until the time I have becomes too finite.
I am scared to commit to the fate that circumstance prescribes. I am reluctant to plunge into a future for which I cannot draw the paths . I am running because I want the beauty to return to the world I had envisaged.
I'm running faster than I ever have ran before. I am running fast, somewhere, to perhaps someplace beautiful and someplace new, but nowhere in particular.
