notes on quiet thoughts

When I noticed that love had been stripped from my life, I felt a sudden complication in air consumed by nihilism and fear and existentialism and hunger for a meaning that I simply couldn’t find. I looked to the great philosophers to prove me of the worth of living but was left to find that I had been deemed righteous. There was nothing left to live for, and now I live with such emptiness I fill the pieces with incoherent conversations on superficial levels of intimacy. Why is my coffee black? It is 3:15 am and I’m walking with feet on carpet yet I cannot grasp why you haven’t been put here to teach me such lesson? I pace around the clock and time ticks. You don’t come back. And he doesn’t reach out. Do I reach for him or wait for you? Do I move on from both capacities? Do I put milk in my coffee? Do I sit in a corner or a bench and play chess with a stranger, will strange love feel fulfilling? I don’t learn how to love; it leaves me no room to breathe. I don’t join or intertwine hands with strangers who pour their heart on their sleeves because I know I have the capability to crush it in between my fingers. I don’t wait because waiting is safe and creates routine. Because choosing someone over and over again is boredom. I cannot live in such doom or despair in my safest boredom. I fell in love with war and despair and confusion. I settled for what triggers my nervous system to react negatively because that is what keeps me active. But I cannot sit and convince you that God has a plan for us all, as I do not believe so. I do not crave the intimacy of social encounters. I’d rather relive my quiet thoughts. That is the most intimate feeling; being at peace with yourself. The exemption of outside longing where you can psychologically feel content with acting selfish.