There's a certain persistent nagging part in me that just wants to let go. Jump. Fly. Scream. Live. Die.
I have come to conclude that right now, right this very instant, I'm living a purpose-less existence. My existence doesn't matter. At all. I mean if I die right now, and I mean that in an un-emo-ey way, like matter-of-factly, if I get run over by a cab or something less tragic, my non-existence won't, in any way, disrupt anything. My presence does not link to anything, anyone, other than my very own self. Not even a weak link to anything weaker.
Not that it hugely did before, but at least there was something there, then. Well, at least I thought I did. You know, that somehow I mattered. That I made a difference. That I was doing something that made a difference. I lived and not merely existed.
But now. Nada. It's just so sad. And I bet I'm not the only one, too. I mean, majority are worse off than me, that I'm sure. But that's them. And there's me. Damn.
Someone send me to Darfur. Now.