Sometimes I wonder if people crave religion the way I do. I also wonder if people feel the need to run away like I do. Have they also found silence on the other end of their prayers and still see their own vacant eyes on the otherside of the world. What am I looking for? What have I always been looking for? Comfort? Stability? Have I damned myself in youth, filling my mind with my own utterings? I wonder if its the same force within me that hasn't let me sleep. You cannot be vulnerable with sleep. You cannot be vulnerable with belief. You cannot be vulnerable with others. You cannot be vulnerable in body. It feels like its been a war since the day I was born. But thunder still cracks and I still jump. How long will I pretend I'm not scared? How long will I be looking for something I won't let myself find? One day I hope my writing won't be so full of questions. Is it a night terror or a spirit? Will I ever know?
About the Creator
Quoth
Unnoticed, the clock struck into the next day. Before my eyes, as midnight came and went, the words on the pages over which I poured blurred together. Meaningless under my over-tired gaze, they looped around themselves, slowly winding lines of text twisting themselves into knots as I watched, barely awake enough to do more than notice the change.
By Alexander McEvoya day ago in Fiction
Comments (2)
This is so like the human desire to find meaning in life itself, the philosophical questionings broken down into a minutia of thoughts.
Never stop searching...