The 18076320 Minute
The Past is the Luxury of Proprietors
Jean-Paul Sartre, Nausea “I am. I am, I exist, I think, therefore I am. I am because I think, why do I think? I don’t want to think anymore; I feel that I am thinking and existing.” – In the cold silence of my mind, I wander alone, a shadow without form or purpose. Nothing haunts me more than the endless emptiness of my thoughts – relentless, unforgiving, they scream of existence. I am trapped in the ceaseless cycle of being, where my presence is the only certainty I hold. Loneliness weighs heavy, an anchor pulling me into the depths of an indifferent world. Existence in all its stark, unrelenting truth leaves me fearful. What am I but a byproduct of chance, an entity dragging itself weakly from day to day? There is no reason for it, no solace found in the patterns of life, only the suffocating awareness that I am here. Again and again, the world around me shifts, yet I remain untouched by change, a solitary figure watching as the snow outside melts and the clouds drift. Others enter and leave, reflections of their despair echoing mine, mirroring the emptiness I betray with every half-hearted glance. In their presence, I find nothing but reminders of my void, my lack of purpose, my form hovering between what is human and what is not. Days pass, replaying the same scenes and the same responses – a cruel repetition. Life is an unending cycle, simply an existence I cannot escape. In this darkened solitude, I find nothing of importance to do. I am here, merely a silent observer of a life of futility. – Jean-Paul Sartre, Nausea “Every existing thing is born without reason, prolongs itself out of weakness, and dies by chance.”.
Confessions of a Troubled Mind V –
– To Be Continued.
