I am a craven, because I whine and talk in “as ifs”, but when it comes down to the crunch I crawl back to my corner desk in my basement room and say “tomorrow”. I’ve said tomorrow to many things, many of them go many years back. Most of them never happened. And then I learned to say that “I accept things (or me) as they are today”. If I believed in it, I wouldn’t have any reason to talk about it.

What did I leave behind?
What did I leave behind?

To be honest, I myself don’t know what I’m waiting for. I always think it’s either this or that milestone in life, but I’ve realized that’s only something I tell myself in order to keep going. Because I always need to tell myself stuff to keep going. Should it be like that? Or does everybody do it?

So is it death I’m waiting for? Because there is no nirvana in life. Some people have career goals or financial goals according to which they mould their lives; everything is about reaching that goal, after which starts the coda of their lives. But why not… not have a goal? Goal seems so… terminal. I find conclusions terrifying. The silence immediately following the apex provokes the monsters my solitude gives birth to. I believe the end of this life is death, and death is not a goal that you can work towards… we don’t prepare for it. Not saying that you can’t… it’s just something we don’t do.

What about just living and not caring about age, expectations and expiration dates? What about choosing which social principles you want to adhere to by yourself? And not have them chosen for you by people who are glued to the concrete?

Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day
To the last syllable of recorded time,
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.