Life is one of those funny things. Not too long ago, I used to think of ending it. But what would be the point? There's nothing to tell me it would be better. And what really is Oblivion? I look outside and I don't understand the world. I think most people don't understand the world, but we pretend to. That's what we all do. We pretend. We pretend we're people we haven't met, people we aspire to be, people we used to be, people we'll never be. The list goes on and on.

And what is it we're all looking for? We can kick and scream and fight against what we all know it is. Like I kick and scream and fight and deny it. Because when it comes down to it, we're only animals and all we want is each other. Maybe only for a moment, but we want each other. Flesh. Skin on skin, and then maybe a mind to go with it. There's nothing that feels better than a hand holding yours, or an arm around your shoulders, or the icy blue look in the eyes of a friend. I suppose if you're looking in mine, it'll be the muddy brown.

I told someone today that I know why I'm so highstrung, so uptight, so afraid of creating new relationships and making new friends. It's the same reason I'm afraid of everything else. "They all die. Too soon. Whether it's disease or stupidity or bus bombs. They all die. And I lose. Yes, I'm selfish and I lose. And I watch my brothers dying and I watch their sight fade, imagining what it's like for the lights to go out, to never see again one more drop of ink or color or sky or sea or even the grey cement."

He understood. Understands. But I flinch and he's calm and the world turns anyway. So he guides me across the road with a hand lightly on my back and I tell him all of this. Then I look up at the sky and it's cloudy and I can't see anything but the shaded veils of darkness that obstruct my stars and will not rain or snow.

I told another friend to not pursue the wind. "Don't pursue the wind, ___," I said. "And you're about to do again. Don't go after it. You'll lose it and get so caught up in what can never be that you'll miss it all."
"I know," he said. "I just don't understand."
"No one does. Just live life. Not dreams. Unless they have hope of reality."

Dreams and schemes, huh? In the end, we're all looking for love. I hope everyone gets to keep it while I throw mine away. "For the good of the People, I will stamp my own happiness out."

But I've reconciled it.

"Consider now; isn't that the height of folly?/ Who may be a real fool unless he is in love?"-Chaucer.