Dates don’t mean much to me anymore. Whether it’s of the day or of meet-ups; whichever definition you prefer.
For example, all these posts are posted in a chronological order, but the date lost meaning. Upper right. It may say the 24th, but I don’t know. It’s just incremental. Calendars aren’t needed, nor shouldn’t be, nor the clock neither but you don’t have to hear that from me.
Where’s the fervor anyway? Soul…
Dateless, vanishing, out of it. Out!
This is the little shrivel of shattered cement between bricks in mile-high wall. No point digging deeper.
Chip however longer though, it’s solid all around otherwise. Collect all the messages you like.
But I don’t like talking to people. I don’t see why you do either. Most pain comes from other people. And it’s not the talking – go ahead, shoot whatever.
It’s the aftermath, it’s the managing, it’s the loss before you even had anything. It’s too uncomfortable. It’s too pointless. The pointlessness resides with me, most likely.
Giving up, I’m out of it. Don’t even bother to check neocities anymore. This is just my shoutbox and whoever reads it is welcome, but there’s a reason why I don’t have a contact page.
There’s a reason why I don’t have an about page.
There’s a reason why I don’t want to engage anymore. It’s just too painful and making time for these things makes you shrivel up too. Sickening moments turn into days and turn into fantasies of being anywhere else.
That’s just my reality. Why disappoint yourself when there are tiles to walk on? Press on, won’t you?
Cold compassion is refreshing, if you give it enough of a try.
A toast to the dateless.