I get cold easy

maybe that makes me long for warmth

maybe it’s just physical

my stomach hurts

and I sweat

and I shake

my hands shake like you wouldn’t believe

sometimes physical symptoms are enough

to make me wonder

i wonder a lot

spend a lot of time in my head

does everyone feel like this ?

i ask

how do they do it ?

and if they don’t

what’s it like ?

My guess is I’ll never know

All suffering is suffering

Everyone suffers

just in different ways

It helps a little to think this way

a sad but compassionate outlook

other people hurting makes me feel less alone

of course I’d rather they didn’t hurt

even more than I’d rather my own pain to end

people deserve to be happy

deserve the world

but,

and we don’t get what we deserve

we get suffering

some more than others

but no less than a little

This framework of sadness

which I have erected firmly

both voluntarily and not

is helpful for a few things

Not least

To think of everyone as sad

is to be angry with no one

anger is born from the same seed

but bears different fruit

how can I be angry with you when I relate to your pain

you are suffering and so anger is a natural response

just like isolation

the anger of others filters down to me as a symptom of pain

insecurity

instability

the terrible inescapable qualities of life

and so I cannot blame others

we are all suffering

our reactions are hardly ours to choose

as bound to individualism and control as we are

we are ourselves

more human than we know

i think maybe some of my incapacity for anger

comes from a complete lack of motivation

anger creates thoughts of action

of restitution

of physical catharsis

of decisive thoughts, sure in their motives

I fall on the other side of this line

which divides those ambitious people

so strongly tied to their narrative

whose conceptions of themselves know no bounds

I don’t know where I’m going

but it feels like down

en emotional tightrope

minimal visibility

on both sides and below

only longing

that hyper emotional necessity

for someone

something

some thought

some semblance of peace

that will not come

There is no one to be rageful with but myself

and I choose

or rather don’t choose

to not partake

instead I’ll cry

and sit alone

taking my meals at strange hours

reminiscing on the good every now and then

wading through the dark

at a snail’s pace

waiting for nothing

smoking

drinking coffee

hands shaky

waiting

for something new and warm and brilliant

to show itself

hoping I’ll know it when it comes

but still waiting

for nothing