It's late. I need to try to get some sleep. But I somehow know, without even trying, that sleep is going to elude me tonight.
How many people, I wonder, spend their entire lives wondering what they want? Suspecting, theorizing, guessing. Picking goals at random, or because their parents did it, or because they saw it on TV or read it in a book.
Wouldn't it be ironic, I wondered this afternoon, if I quit my job and sold all of my possessions and moved a thousand miles away?
The whole thing is so fucking lopsided. I hate that it's like this. I hate that I can only find clarity for a couple of hours on a cool Sunday afternoon, before the fog and the haze creeps back into my life.
And yet I always welcome it, this confusion and this fuzziness.
Because everything is hidden in that fog.
I'm looking, right now as I type this sentence, at a picture of the most beautiful woman I've ever known. The most fascinating person I've ever known.
She's there, in the fog. And I'm there too. But we're not there together. We're both alone. Arms outstretched. Groping.
I wonder if we will ever find each other.