Venting The Rusty Wheel

[Lavínia]

I've always tried hard, for some things. I planned, I tried, and I even achieved some things. I struggled a lot to talk to people; I felt like they could rip my throat out, it hurt a lot, but I learned to communicate without fear. To know when to keep quiet. I tried hard for some things; in fact, I gave everything I had to some goals. But things continue. This part, this essence of life, is what destroys me inside. My work, the fruit of what I've done, I need to sustain it, keep going, because things don't stop, they continue, they continue. I made a friendship, I need to keep thinking, sustaining it, having more meetings, more conversations, more stories. And it continues. I need to do more, and more, and watch the fruits I had harvested rot, change. From oranges, they turned into bell peppers. From blackberries, a dried apple. I believe the essence of life is Will, and this will wants to continue. It tends to continue, mutating, transforming, and changing even more. And the universe tends toward imbalance, entropy, change. I try, I try, and I do everything, I give up, damn it, I've given up on so many things, and it still continues. This story, this thing, this disgusting thing, still continues. What else do I need to do? When will it end? Everything is distorted, everything I had I've lost, I'm turning into a shell of cheap anger and incompetence.

I'm writing this on the bus, in front of me is a September Yellow card. "There is always a way." I don't want to walk anymore, I want no fucking way, I just want a conclusion. An ending, something that completes itself and ends.