You reach a point on some days, when you’re inundated by futility and the knowledge that what will be will never be what you once hoped it would be. Life, the perpetual intercourse, works by its own design and under its own premises, and none of them involve you. You’re just coasting along on the thin, fragile crust of an unconcerned planet, elliptically orbiting a sun that slowly orbits the confluent center of a galaxy that owes you neither recognition nor recompense, and that’s just how it is. So you reach a point on some days, and that point is the place where you decide to drive on anyway, as you always do, or you finally decide to let it all go.
But I’m still here, still here, still here.
That sounds more melodramatic than intended, but I don’t know how else to say it. If you’ve ever battled with depression and anxiety, you get it, though. It’s been one of those weeks. 😉