The (Possibly) Pointless Writings of a (Possibly) Meaningless Writer

I can't think to say things. I can think to write. Give me enough time and I could write something that sounds impressive. Give me the same amount of time and I still won't think of anything worthwhile to say. It's who I am. It sucks at times, but it's who I am. It's why I want to be by myself. Why it would be better if I knew no one. I could live in solitude, be a recluse, and write. Send my writings to the world. Send my pain to the world. No one will read what I write regardless. Whether I know people or not, my writings will fail. They may be impressive, but people don't read. Why do I love what no one enjoys? Why do I find the most useless things to do with my life? So I could try to say things, know people, hold conversations, make speeches, shit like that, and fail. Or I could spend my life writing and fail in the minds of others regardless. Maybe it doesn't matter what anyone else thinks. Maybe I'm the one that matters when it comes to my own life. Or maybe I mean nothing; perhaps I'm insignificant. The latter seems more likely. Maybe it doesn't matter that I fail because I don't matter. But I don't want to believe that. I want to believe that I have purpose. Do I want to think that whether or not I do? Do I prefer myself over the truth? I don't know the answer to that. I know the answer to nothing. I know nothing. My conclusion to this is just that: that I know nothing. For what point have proved here, what truth have I unveiled? Absolutely none.

Truth

If I want to, I will believe every little lie, every lie of large proportions, even the most unlikely lies that you could tell. I'll even deny the truth when you speak it and when I see it. But sometimes the truth is too blatant to deny, and although my ability to detect and accept and know the falsity of lies may not be in any way improved, there are times when I really hear what is said and take it as it is, even though it's not what I desire to hear. Sometimes I believe the right things, though those times are few and far between. But when it does happen, things change. They change drastically. Because when I at last accept the truth and deny the lies, there is no going back. Everything will change. Nothing will ever be the same. But change, as much as I despise it, is far better than remaining fixed in a moment, in a place, where nothing can ever change, where everything remains the same forever. It may sound appealing, but in reality, it is more appalling than you imagine. For when the place you are in is not beneficial to anyone, how then can not changing become in any way advantageous?

The End of Love

How can it be over?

How could it ever end?

How am I to recover

When we’re barely even friends?

This is my heart.

It’s been broken in two.

I never thought at the start

That I’d be crying over you.

How did it get to this stage?

How did we fall out of love?

How did we turn the page

When I thought we’d never move?

I haven’t really fallen out.

My love is just as strong.

My tears seem to never run out

Because this went on so long.

How could I stop loving you?

Do you think it could end so fast?

Was not my heart ripped in two

When you said that it couldn’t last?

I’m not sure what your feelings are.

You say that you love me still.

I’ve believed what you’ve told me so far

And now I just don’t have the will.