I feel like everything is pointless. That’s the word I’ve been looking for.

It feels pointless.

The things I do feel pointless. This effort feels pointless.

After getting admitted to the hospital, I realized how paths and relationships lose their flavor over time and that nothing really lasts. It solidified my assumptions further. Once I get this death trap out of myself, I’ll iron my plans and sort my life out.

The medicine that the nurses have been injecting into my IV hurts like hell. As if it’s setting my nerves on fire. How ironic that it’s meant to kill the pain in the first place. It burns. I want to wreathe into myself like a snake, bite off skin, draw blood to translate how it hurts. You tell me simply, so clean cut, to “swallow the pain” as if I have a choice. As if I own the switch to turn it off. I seal my mouth off, and swallow the blood that tastes like words. The wound still fresh.

Still at the hospital. There are blood scabs at the edges of my mouth. Both of my hands are filled with fluid, bruised and swollen that I can barely hold a pen. I’m tired of being in pain. Tired of my thoughts that I’m left with when I have nothing else to do but sit here. I want to go home.

Let’s not think about it.

Focus on the present. Live in the present.

If the problem presents itself one day then that’s when you make it a problem to deal with.

As you grow older, you start trying to understand the world rather than try to make the world understand you.

I’ll travel through time, through space, and when the time comes, I’ll see you again.

– a love letter to myself