I removed you from my thoughts. I lived all this time without you, and I managed to thrive. You certainly were a spark in my fireworks. I went up. Do I want to explode now? What's the beauty in fireworks if they don't burst out with fire and colors? Maybe I'll explode into oblivion someday.
Anyway, I derailed. I have some specific targets and goals in life. They make my life meaningful as a nihilist. Whether I’m able to accomplish them is not a concern of mine, but I'll do whatever I can till my last breath. I have to stay alive somehow. Is it too much? Sometimes, yes. Mostly, no.
A speeding vehicle is more prone to accidents during a lane switch than a slower one. I carry too much and too many things now. I can't allow a haphazard turn.
I remember quite vividly the lines from Edgar Allan Poe's poem Alone:
And all I loved, I loved alone.
Yes, indeed, I’m alone. And that too is by choice. Psychologists will diagnose me with some fancy disorder, I know. But mine is more philosophical than psychological.
I’m complexly a simple soul—a paradox.
Do I want to show off or signal something to others? No.
Do I want you only and only because I wanted to? No.
Am I lying to myself? Maybe. I don’t know now exactly.
If I let undesired stuff get involved with me, am I also not the one to remove or prevent them? Yes.
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