The sun shines bright, yellow rays dancing through the trees. The air blows cold, biting at my cheeks and kissing my skin. The world bustles around me, everything with a purpose. Me, I wander.
Some days, my words seem borrowed. I recognize the beauty around me, the uniqueness of life. But I can’t feel it. I know how I should feel, but I can’t. I just feel nothing. A lethargy, a chill that seeps into my bones. I am a specter, a voyeur in my own life. Everything seems so miniscule, so pointless.
At the same time, everything seems like a chore. I don’t want to do anything, yet I don’t want to stay still. I’m stuck in a limbo, a purgatory. Some days feel like a fever dream, where I am both awake and asleep. I just act an archetype, I believe nothing.
The counterarguement here is one of absurdism. If nothing matters, why not do anything? Compelling, tempting, alluring. But why? I simply don’t see a reason. Why not just sit and watch the world go by? Both paths end the same.
I’ve resorted to more and more hedonism. Yes, I’ve previously argued against it, but I find myself drawn to it. Breaking 90mph, shooting up barely legal substances, and putting money on the line. It’s not that I don’t care about the consequences, but that I feel something for the most brief of moments.
But like any adrenaline junkie, all highs fade. I keep pushing, keep putting more on the line, but the returns are diminishing. And I notice. This feeling is soul crushing. Why bother enjoying anything? Everything fades, and the only thing left is emptiness.
I have nothing to live for, and I don’t have anything to die for.