Vanish.

Do you ever have a moment, where you do something simple to every day existence, like take a bite of a granola bar and realise… you feel nothing? Tears slip out, hot and salty compared to the cool that air that is longing to become spring. You realise that you don’t feel hunger, or thirst, or sad, or happy. You’re just, here.

I was reading a lot this morning while laying in a parking lot. Which by the way, others don’t like. They won’t talk to you, or make direct eye contact. They won’t ask if you need any help, and they will keep a pretty decent distance. We’re not very good at what’s abnormal. But I tend to believe, I’m pretty abnormal.

Quotes by Charles Bukowski. He’s not someone you should be reading when you don’t feel anything. But, in some ways, I guess it’s comforting that I can write about this feeling and know that there are others just this way. A quote I found:718fd333fdf5624645c5d1e2e5c093d9.jpg

And I thought; it’s not about dying at all. It’s about the simple fact of existence. Everyone dies. That’s just how it is. And as much of a shell of a person as I am, I guess, though I don’t care if I did, I’m not ready to be dead. However, to not exist. That’s something that moves me a little.

When you die you can’t be fully erased. There’s photographs, social media, news papers, legal records, a grave, a headstone, your ashes. And even if somehow all of those things could go away, there is still your memory.

And only the dead can know what really happens after we die. But let’s say we carry on one way or another. Heaven or Hell. Reincarnation. Ghosts. Whatever. I’m not keen on any of that.

I’m very existential. Who or what just decided one day that two people were going to come together and trigger a reaction of cells to form the being that is me. And why are we capable of even thinking about it? Something that there is obviously no point to.

It’s no way to live one’s life thinking this all of the time, but it’s not fair. That we never have a choice in the matter. We’re just put here and are told, “Do your best.” So we say that when times are hard. “It’ll get better.” And I’m wondering which part of the human mind is the illusion. The awful things. Or the good things. Is it as simple as tricking our mind into seeing the positive in everything?

But somehow people end up just the way the are. A selfish person can pretend to be selfless, maybe even wish they were that way, but always in the end, they are selfish. An optimist may sometimes wish to feel the pain that others feel to acquire understanding, but they will always be an optimist.  So people like me, it would be safe to assume we are the same and eventually always find our roots.

I would like very much for all things pertaining to me to vanish.

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