I feel the summer has come to its close. The never-ending flow of time has brought me to a new beginning once again. A temporal nothingness fills my existence at this cold morning. Without the nothingness, however, there could be no meaningful existence. So I lay down on my couch and stop thinking for a while.
A sense of being important. You and I. If only I could express my feelings in an understandable way.
If only I could write in English better.
My thoughts are nothing. The end is the beginning. I am who I am not and I am not who I am.
This society of idiots is killing me, but I don't what to be bothered by that anymore.
The horizon of possibilities opens up before me.
It all came in pieces; an incomprehensible puzzle that was coming but did not want to be understood until the time was right. And in the end it all entwines; being and nothingness, hope and desperation, the coming and not-coming, life and non-life, understanding and bad faith, existence and denial. Existence is created through the understanding of the unity of the subject and the object; to look, to see, to know, to understand. Life is simply misery, but there are ways to get over it. My existence is for-her, and for her only do I exist. The realization terrifies and emancipates at the same time. My knowing is now understanding.
I want to hold your hand if you ever feel like wanting to give in.
The only good thing about this letter is that no one will ever read it.
Well, it's September, and I am stuck between the past and the coming...
