There is no reason to stay. Nothing to hold onto, nothing worth the while. There is no reason to keep doing what I do, no reason to go on the same way. There is no reason to wake up at the same hour, to eat the same breakfast, to take the same train. No reason to read the same book or, while eating, to get the same stain. The drag pulls me under, water all around. No clarity of direction, but a force that pulls me away from this. Away from what seems inescapable, away from a situation like a prison, an existence resembling a bad movie on repeat. No strength to fight against the current, but the necessity to go the other direction. Streams of consciousness in my unconscious, waterfalls of ideas that were meant to rise instead. Submerged in the regret of having so few regrets, of having done so few regrettable things, of having done so little at all.

 

Coming up for air.

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