I’m stuck in a small room most of the time. I’m not really sure how I was born into this and not something different.
I’m thinking of what everyone is doing. Everyone else. Think of all the people sleeping, sweating, screaming. I think of all the people fucking and all the people smoking Camel 99s. Today is someone’s morning after something. Today is the last day of someone’s life, the first of someone else’s. Today someone was murdered. Today someone felt proud of their garden.
Among all of these things, all of these events, the feelings, the sadness and ecstacy, where am I? I want to be part of something, I want my blood to flow fast, I want my boots to pound below me. How could I be at rest when the world never stops, when I know that every second in one hundred thousand different places, I am missing the birth of something? I am missing something life-changing, I am missing something that would break my heart. How can I rest when two people are falling in love and I am not there to describe their faces?