Just as things come together, they beging to fall apart all over again. That's just life, I guess, but I'm furious about it. Do I have to go through everything alone, take on the burdens of all people I happen to come into contact with? I suppose so.
I'll stay here, leave and come back, because I can't leave my brothers for dead at home, because that's what it'll be without me. Everything I do and don't do is eaten up by a guilty conscience. Nothing's ever right. Nothing's ever good enough. But is self-sacrifice the answer or the antithesis of self-righteousness? I still don't know, but either way, I lose. In the end, I'd rather lose to everyone who's winning instead of dragging the lot of them with me.
Another selfless act...
Yet, no matter what, I'm called selfish and with every waking moment, I attempt to prove the label wrong. It figures--all the time is spent on myself anyway. An dI"m still a part of the endless wave, making no impression on the ocean but a bad one beacuse the rest always goes unnoticed.
And why do I care anyway? No one else seems to be concerned. It's in my damned nature and I can't run from it. If I could, I'd no longer be myself, which actually sounds rather appealing. I wouldn't be missed anyhow. Human memory is vague or non-existent when it comes to these things...but in the end I'd still be looking through my eyes, even if it's also through someone else's.
So the pointless thought pattern strikes again. It's always this. And all thoughts are pointless in the end.
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