The World Isn’t Real
As I write, I’ve started to figure out a few things about the world and why nothing ever seems to change. The world isn’t real. I go out and I attend classes and I watch other people as they go about their day and I realized that what they all do seems almost pointless. I see people go out and drink and smoke and party and it seems to help them deal with what the world is, but I’ve never looked to those options in my life.
I feel like I’m reading the same book over and over again with slight editorially differences from edition to edition. The style changes a little, but it’s still the same old tired story. It makes me think about what is real and what is it that we make up to either make ourselves feel important or to make it seem like our lives have some sort of meaning. I spend 8 months writing and perfecting a book and it was supposed to be some monumental feat. It’s supposed to be some life changing event, but it wasn’t. I’m still just as meaningless and non essential as before, and I think I’m ok with it.
I will finish my planned works and just call it a day. Besides, the world isn’t real, right?