Blur

I used to count the days. The days left until I could find happiness. Fulfillment. I don't anymore. I can't even tell the days apart from one another. Every moment of my existence has blended into one blurry cascade of monotonous and uneventful frames. There is nothing left to look forward to since every moment feels the same. Is that all there is to life? Is the absence of despair all that happiness is? Seems like a dull world.

Some people seem to have achieved a happiness beyond what I have. But it all feels like a facade. A grand contest to see who can act the best like they have figured it all out. Life is strange. Meaningless. They say that's what makes it worth living. But sometimes its hard to find ways to justify existence. Every few years I come up with a new way to keep myself going. It feels like a decision everyone must make. One that I believe people seldom acknowledge. Would I rather live in such a state of ignorance? I do not know.

Perhaps this eternal struggle with the self is the cruel price we must pay for sentience. After all, in the grand scheme of things, we are simply purposeless blobs floating through space. All alone in the vastness of the universe, going by in one huge monotonous blur. And the only constant is Time. The bane of existence.