In a long time

Then there are the simpler questions, such as, what do I live for? And I could offer plenty of answers, but each would prompt me to search for another one. So I avoid the question, all the while wondering if it's even worth asking. Ideals? They are as firm as water. Hopes die young; new ones are awoken as quickly as night touches day. Dreams are better hidden away, savoured alone. It's not that I like being caught up in such generalizations and empty philosophies, it's just that sometimes in, in desperation, I have to reach for the simplest explanations I can find. I don't have the courage to admit to myself that I look for reasons to live mainly for comfort, to quell the rowdy regrets in my chest; maybe all we need to do is stay beautifully alive, or maybe it's not a question of what, but who.


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Seems I died and came back. Giving up the poetry - all style and no feeling. Time to focus on what I really need to say. Regards, B.