How To Disappear Completely And Never Be Found Again

“Jhst thinking...how nothing last.”

Sad and true. Yet, there's a small call of realism...and the ache of memories to always be saved. Until then...💋

𝑰 𝒘𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒗𝒂𝒏𝒊𝒔𝒉 𝒊𝒇 𝑰 𝒉𝒂𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒂𝒃𝒊𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒚 𝒕𝒐. 𝑰'𝒅 𝒅𝒊𝒔𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒆𝒂𝒓 𝒊𝒇 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒔𝒌𝒆𝒅 𝒎𝒆 𝒕𝒐. 𝑨𝒏𝒅 𝒊𝒇 𝑰 𝒉𝒂𝒅 𝒕𝒐, 𝑰 𝒘𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅𝒏'𝒕 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒃𝒂𝒄𝒌.

𝑫𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒉 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒅𝒊𝒔𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒆 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒂𝒎𝒆. 𝑳𝒆𝒕'𝒔 𝒄𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒐𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒐𝒖𝒔 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒔.

𝑾𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒂 𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆 𝒊𝒕 𝒘𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒃𝒆 𝒊𝒇 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒓𝒆𝒗𝒊𝒗𝒆 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒔𝒐𝒖𝒍 𝒊𝒔 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒚, 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒗𝒂𝒏𝒊𝒔𝒉 𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒐 𝒂𝒏 𝒂𝒃𝒚𝒔𝒔.

𝑰𝒕 𝒘𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒃𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉 𝒅𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒉 𝒐𝒏𝒍𝒚. 𝑵𝒐 𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒆𝒔; 𝒏𝒐 𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒃𝒂𝒄𝒌𝒔; 𝒏𝒐 𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒂𝒌𝒆𝒃𝒂𝒄𝒌𝒔.

𝑰 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒆𝒙𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒆 𝒅𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒉'𝒔 𝒊𝒄𝒚, 𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒄𝒍𝒂𝒘𝒔 𝒊𝒇 𝒎𝒚 𝒔𝒐𝒖𝒍 𝒃𝒆𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒔 𝒅𝒂𝒓𝒌𝒆𝒓. 𝑰'𝒍𝒍 𝒃𝒆 𝒂𝒃𝒍𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒘𝒂𝒕𝒄𝒉 𝒎𝒚𝒔𝒆𝒍𝒇 𝒋𝒐𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒔𝒍𝒚 𝒗𝒂𝒏𝒊𝒔𝒉 𝒊𝒇 𝑰 𝒑𝒖𝒓𝒊𝒇𝒚 𝒎𝒚 𝒔𝒐𝒖𝒍.

|| ill and considering. There are only a few days left until the start of a new year. Unable to sleep, yet thinking and yawning nonetheless. What are you mulling over? I'm trying to think when my head is pounding and my bones hurt. No regrets or grievances. because everything operates through a process of lessons and learning. With each dozy cough, I'll look forward to the New Year as these pains gradually go away and I continue to believe the impossibility.

The weekend—

—What’s crazy is this human heart of ours. Clumped up veins pumping blood and yet...we follow it? Seriously. Unreal. What's insane is that I thought—no...I believed that maybe, just MAYBE some things would be different or change. And yet...? Almost the same.

For granted, feeling depleted, wanting to live off the grid. For the memories are all great, my mind in a state of confusion and my heart? Pieces. No puzzle to be built.

𝐓𝐡𝐞 “𝐎𝐝𝐝” 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠—

I don't belong. I don't belong, belong. Do I not belong? Am I an alien? Do I not belong in this world?

Despite not asking the question, I gaze to the skies for answers. And yet, I wonder...what? Do I belong or am I meant to feel this? Feel what? This. This...being?

The intense chewing has bruised my lips, numbing my fingertips, causing my eyes to widen and my soul to awaken. Am I not bound to this life, to this experience, to this world that has been shoved upon me. Like compacted snowballs. Do I belong here?

I could walk the tightrope of mounting cathartics and pave a new way. I could even go down the path of death, and my mind has ever so carefully migrated to that area.

This strange feeling. These strange feelings. Odd feeling, this, be I, me, the feeling. Does anyone...anyone have answers? Do I belong here, there, anywhere? Am I needed, wanted, loved, or appreciated? Do I belong...?

Sunday: Sonntag.

||Journal entry—

Inhaling each time I exhale, I somehow still hold my breath. Although I'm confident in myself, I have the circus in my ear. I still am...okay. I’m on a journey unlike any other—riding a wave of past literature passions and building new relationships every day.

In a very narrow sense, I feel 'seen' more than ever. But it's not through that I have seen-there's not really much there to see. I have been taken by storm every day. Yet I do not want to be too obtuse because that would jeopardize my journey.

As well as terrified, I'm also unafraid. I'm happy, as well as sad. I'm privileged, even if I'm rebellious. Pushing the envelope, stomping on the tip of my toes... I know I'm rebellious, but I don't know what to call it.

Each conversation should be open-ended; but I do not want to overdo it. Round Robin circles... I can't escape the circus. It's up there and it's loud. No romanticization here; just the truth.

There's a good chance I won't do another Sunday entry. That's okay. Nothing is ever going to be the same and nothing will ever be different --but still the same. So let me leave this entry open ended. I'm leaving it up to My Future self to interpret.

What risks does having dreams pose, if any? free to let one's thoughts stray and get lost. But that's all there is. Lost. Maybe lost means you don't want to be found. Imagine that the joy is in being above the clouds, gazing down as the body is motionless. Still adrift. to fly into the air, temporarily erasing all concerns and doubts. Expressionless, immobile, and hyper-focused on everything at once. trapped in the labyrinth of my own consciousness. Is this the cost of freedom, though? This never-ending web of anxiety... the agonizing impression that dreams are unreal. yet actual to me. My objectivity is unique. within this body...

Nothing is meant by this body, these words. a moron with a body, I am a poet who speaks foolishly. Usually unheard, rambling, and losing charm; merely musing and muttering. A never-ending mass of nonsense masquerading as... Collective words. I'm hoping someone somewhere will understand. This mind's soul is imprisoned in a machine-like anger, much like a demon. Typical. Although essentially silly, intellect is marked... And what conflict does my body have? I'll continue to float, staying in my dreams, and perhaps...

Perhaps...

Solitude.