Thoughts of No Significant Relevance

I no longer crave for tears to be shed. Crying, as it turned out, is our body’s way of releasing these loads of negative energy away, making it all better.

And I found that’s what’s fucked up with me. Maybe I don’t wanna feel better. Maybe I’m an eternal sufferer. Maybe I keep being miserable not because life has frowned upon me, but because I’m just this type of person. I used to think it was love that put me through all of these miseries. Yet love has been absent from my life for a quite a while now, and yet I still feel extremely empty inside. And, after digging deep down inside, trying to fish out some consciously unknown cause to all of this, I reached the conclusion that there isn’t one. I’ve no reason to be miserable. So that’s when I figured out that maybe something’s just wrong with me. Maybe, through pain and suffering which I refuse to show on the outside and deal with, I receive satisfaction of some sort. I wonder if that’s really fucked up. It probably is. I might as well take a look at it. Yet, as a masochist, I would probably find a reason to deny this possible cure from myself, just so I could suffer a little more. The city’s dark, and the last remaining night lamp is starting to blink.