Into the wide.

I wish I could express these things in my head in these words.  I can't seem to determine the value of anything anymore.  What these priorities are and what keeps me from doing them in their proper order.  I claim indifference and apathy but something is holding me back.  I'm nervous.  I can't meet your eyes with my own because I fear that in them you will find something that I wish to keep hidden.  I don't believe I can refrain from these things that inhibit what I am.  But I cannot say I am that sure of what being entails anymore.  I know I sound depressed and masochistic and things of that nature but the truth is I am a fraud even in this sense.  It's more of a disregard for my own well being.  Am I that naive to believe that those of us who aren't really troubled with at least some mutilation of the mind are few in numbers?  Or am I even more gullible to believe that we are a great many?  Who is this antagonist?  Everyone, the many, us, why can't we be courageous?  Self-interest is our only interest it seems.  And the only thing that seems to be apparent is our indifference.  

And that is where this plot thickens.  Like a fault in a lovers heart in which you've become lost. The one side you wish to be, is secluded from the outside like a princess in a castle in some fairy tale. As you reach and climb and pull and stretch you make ground but too much and too soon.  And you, like a coward pleading for his life, cling to where you are so you may not lose more ground.  So you slide back further and further and now you're on the other side. The crevice is now widening and this abyss that has formed beckons you to try and tame it.  It coaxes you, saying,  "Conquer me and you may have your prize!" And though you know that this feat on which you are inevitably going to embark is beyond your capacity you continue.  In this endeavor you are lost.  So subsequently, in future quests of this type you will naturally follow a similar pattern and it's this pattern that becomes our complacency.  You are content.  Not happy and alone, now pleased with that which truthfully holds no value in your heart.  When you sit and reflect upon these things you will remember that failed conquest and you may weep.  In time though, you will be bland again.  Like when you held no opinions or convictions because you failed to find the meaning in things.  No longer troubled.  There is no fire to burn at your mediocrity and for this you are thankful.

Neglect.  For ourselves and for each other.  We have given too much and too little praise to this Love.  We just utter the words so commonly and blindly it was as if saying or better meaning, this sensation was something of little magnitude in ourselves or in the thing receiving this.  What a tragedy we make ourselves out to be!  The love and its recipient will go their own ways and you may look with envy upon those who have not yet experienced this departure.  You cry, "Pity me!  Look, see that I have no longer anything to love!  Who can help fill the void in me that I have not yet filled with all my other necessities?!  Get me there and name your reward." How grand it must be to triumph over such a thing with no effort of your own.  Hmm, but how much greater by your own doing?  And in that respect how much more difficult? Can we really claim sincerity about these things?  Or would we learn to be enthralled by that which others have deemed to us as significant?  

Fuck fear. Fuck regret. Let's try and salvage what's left of us.