Letter To Reader - 22 November 2017

Dear Reader, I find myself unable to focus on anything anymore, even the most menial of things. My mind wanders into its own infinite depths only to find itself lost in wonder. Question upon question asked in monotonous curiosity with the only answer being another question, most commonly in the form of "what if?" These thoughts (or lack of, in all actuality) plague the very essence of my joy. These are the thoughts of a broken mind; one which is unable to grasp the graciousness of life and love and happiness, but not passion. I know this because I feel passion on a daily basis. I feel passionately about peace and hope. I feel rage over hatred and violence. I feel empathy for the tattered and broken-hearted. I feel pity for myself because I know I have it well, yet I continue to feel this way. I feel hatred for my thoughts because I know I could have it so much worse. These are the thoughts of the insane, and they must be; the thoughts of a man who could have the world if, and only if, he would stop and think his own thoughts rather than wallow and wade through the shallow tides of selfishness. This is not a life. It is not a life because it is not living. This life may as well be as words on a paper; Real, but only so. Stationary, but only so. Life, but only so.