I always find it quite ironic. I love gloomy days and lazying around doing nothing but in the comfort of my snuggly bed yet i love the sun beating down on my bare skin thinking about adventures. I love to be alone yet I hate being lonely. There’s something about me that’s totally different from myself. I can be so lazy yet I can run around for hours. I love to read but at the same time I hate it. Same with writing. Sometimes, I can passionately write, while other times, I write so scornfully, almost as if I feel obliged.
Maybe I’m what you call bi-polar, except the definition is slightly altered. It’s strange that I’m sitting right now, right here eager to write except I want to be finished. There’s a strange pull that makes me want to but is holding me back. It’s an indescribable feeling. and I wonder if anybody has this same feeling.
But there’s something about this indescribable feeling that it makes me feel almost as if everything I type is nonsense. Like, I’m trying to put it into words but I can’t. The feeling is too abstruse that I can’t even explain it. It’s a feeling that when you try to describe you make incomprehensible hand gestures, rotating the wrist, swinging your arms back and forth, trying to make something out of it.
Then you get off topic and you start thinking about things you shouldn’t be thinking about. LIke the galaxy and what’s out there. About the stars, about love and fate. About scenarios bound to never happen. You think about a different life, but feel guilty for even thinking about it. You think about a parallel universe and then you realize that you’re thinking about nonsense and you’re writing about nonsense but you don’t stop to write you just don’t. You continue and carry on. It’s like diarrhea and everything just flows out. Except it’s not disgusting like diarrhea. You just can’t stop, your brain can’t and neither can your wrist and fingers stop. Everything just keeps flowing like this universe. Time keeps flowing, gravity, everything. Nothing stops. Seconds pass into minutes and you age without even thinking.
It’s weird once you start to think, and when you start thinking, you can’t begin to understand.