cineque

I move a lot for staying in the same place.

I am tired to death of making such little progress in life. I stay in quiet little circles, mini spheres of life in which I judge myself. And I succeed, more often then not, but with the decay of the whole while I play out these little games, real progress is slow. I become sidetracked, I throw away days, weeks, years. And I do it alone, but for tenuous ties due to my combative and discriminating nature. I am selective and most people drive me insane, I can't be around them. I can't be around much of anyone for any length of time. I lack excitement in my own life so I manufacture it. I want to be a part of something so I invent it. And I am still so fucking wounded and nostalgic even after so much time, it sickens and saddens me to my core that the most important thing, to me, that I've ever been a part of was such a horrible scar. It lingers over me and looms over everything I do and leaves me unable to appreciate beauty, kindness, and sincerity without first detaching myself from it. It leaves me cold, like I bled out all my warmth and I now go around observing everything with a cool, objective distance.

I wonder sometimes what I would do if I saw my first ex again. I know what I would do if I saw most of them, but not him. It's odd to think of spending two years with someone and then breaking off so abruptly, but I suppose I did that. After so much time it's more of a curiosity then anything, but I wonder if he looks in on me from time to time or cares to. It's faded to curiosity and who knows if it will fade still, but it's a stray thought I've caught in my head lately.

Thoughts are still and always fragmented, I hate being fragmented, disorganized. I am becoming more and more organic in my thoughts and decision making which is a horrible thing to do for someone who detaches himself from parts of life.


I can never focus long enough to say what I want to say.