September 18th, 1991
What does the future hold? Or, for that matter, the past? Who am I? Who have I been? Who will I be? Is there a place for me? Has there ever been?
I do not gain wisdom as time passes; instead, I seem to lose all sense and rationality. The world becomes increasingly foreign with each ticking second. What once was a sea of infinite possibilities, topped to the brim with color, has now become a monotone wasteland where the only temptation is the extinguishing of the flickering flame that represents my soul.
Maybe I’ll never be anybody. Maybe I’ll never go anywhere. But I can’t help but wonder about the past. Nothing I’ve experienced has amounted to anything. I don’t have inspirations or memories to recall. In a somewhat simplistic way it was as if the past truly were left in the past. If the past isn’t what makes a person, then what is? Somehow, something seems to have been lost, but there is no indication of how to retrieve it or if retrieval was even possible. Aren’t I but a fool? Aren’t I? I’d like to sleep for a thousand years. To never wake. I’d like to be done with any notion of following the current, but I was born of it. That sickness. That pursuit of greed and vanity. It stains me deeply without any signs of washing off. I am tainted, and for that I curse my own life as if I had created it myself. As if I had a choice. Or, perhaps, I curse precisely because I never had a choice.
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