False Persistence

I no longer know why I endure, nor why I ever tried. Even when I did. It isn't like there is anything for me here. I might hope for more, but what if there is not a big ol' reward waiting, or something for the lucky guy who waited til the end of the film. It just ends. We all die, it will come. It always does. Death is the end, I don't see it so much as being bad, it happens at the end of everything that came before it.

Maybe I should think about life as less a marathon or a party, see it for what it is, a journey from point a to point b. At least then I can understand why I should bother, if at all. It is a math question. I wish all things could work that I now cannot make work. I wish I could give wonderful acts of kindness to those who need them most. Honestly, living has left me exhausted, and my flesh is weary, my mind is tired.

My life was preordained in the ways that it has gone. It felt like I was playing a role, not finding my story and narrating it. Having little to do and unable, at that, has left me raw. Perhaps it will change.