The weary of the soul is greater than the weary of the body. It takes sleep and sustenance to recover from fatigue of the physique however, when the spirit is drained, a being becomes but an empty husk. And empty husks are useless.
What worries me is how often i feel dispirited. As if being irritable with a life so mundane, so extraordinarily ordinary, hasn’t spared me enough grief.
Is this growing up?
My patience seems so much shorter.
I am cursed with disinterest. A lack of passion and heart. For all the trades I’ve learned, I am a master of none. For all the people i’ve met, I could connect to no one.
In search for the divine, the peace, the meaning, I lose grasp of cheap talk and idle fun —what most of the people I am associated with are about— and consequently, enthusiasm. I feel burdened with an eternal thirst, a quest for purpose. As if real happiness lay somewhere higher, far from the laughs I share with my friends and family. How cruel. How selfish of me.
However, please do not give up on me. I am presently trying to figure myself out. I am a product of the lack of materials and motivation and it’s leaving me at a standstill, a grey scale. Am I making excuses for myself? I don’t know. Give me a view of the world, I am at a relative dump.
For there is a fire in my heart and it is but fuel to my ghosts.