Opened up my journal to a page,
everything that hurts me, is still the same.
Feels like there's nothing new for me to say;
why, why, why?
What can we do in our abandoned solitude but gaze at ourselves? Examine ourselves in endless bouts of fascinated distraction, fall in love, and in hate. And as you look upon your own soul, the only answer is forgiveness. Because holding grudges keeps you focused on pain. Forgiveness frees you to focus on looking for whispers from the universe that you're on the right path. Then in time you will not only become overwhelmed by the vastness of possible signs, that the only logical conclusion will be that you are indeed on the sidelines of the universe. That there is no centre, just a giddy mass of waltzing things, and that perhaps the entirety of our understanding consists of an elaborate and ever-evolving knowledge of our own extraneousness.
