day 66

I'll find time.
He will find nothing.
I'll find space.
He will find nothing.
She will find for him.
She will not measure for him.
I'll find nothing.
He will not find nothing.
There are always more than nothing to be found.
We don't have to search far.
They come to us.
We live in a country for young men.
There is no country for old men.
There is no land for the men who fight their secret wars.
There is no land for the men who cross borders to return home.
There is no land for the men who yearn for the final rest.
There is no one who really knows what it means to live to die.
There is no one alive to tell us what to do.
All the dead men, all the bones and fossils buried underneath our wrinkled feet, and all the dust collected in forgotten libraries; we won't find the place with the answers.
Instead, we grow older, and younger, and find that we have yet to explore every corner of the universe.
With you, I can see everything because I see nothing.
I hear nothing. I feel nothing. And I sense nothing.
With you I can grow old again, young again, die again, live again, and still find the hauntings more relevant than before.
I dread my helplessness, and the despair just gets deeper each night.
So is the romantic irony that my transgressions have a deeper purpose to fulfil.
I con myself to sleep: "Aha, I'll live another day to correct this!" Or "Aha, I'll live another day to be corrected."

We have no country to sleep in.
No paradise left for us.
No dreams to materialise.
No hope untainted.
We imagine the worst things and live by them diligently.
Life is like the bile that is stuck in your throat, a second before you puke.
You can get rid of it, but it won't go without leaving a horrible taste.
I cannot count the amount of excuses I made for myself.
Perhaps, the only thing left that I can depend on is this consistency.
Who are you?
The sphinx with the answers?
I slept with blatant comfort.
When will I face the evil that is my existence?
What does it feel to face myself?

We'll never know. We won't be alive to know.