The opposite of boredom
"Dear imaginary diary,
Let me start with an apology for your non-existence. All my thoughts I have ever had to entrust to anybody I sent to my mother so she could be mentally wired to my hectic life. I call them "my guilty strip letters".
I am on a hospital bed, trying to catch a glimpse of golden skies in a blinded window, feeling unoccupied and empty, as if all of the neurons and muscles took a week off.
My weariness is almost like a disease, only incurable.
They say you can't experience death, because it's the end of experience. That you have to deal with after not dying is the absence of life. It's like you've aged 40 years and now you're tired and bored with this pointless struggle.
And then I think of someone.
His blurry face as I try to focus my sight, his smile which I figure through his words, all in all his presence.
"Say, Morgan, are you bored?"
"With you around? No, kid, never." He smirks and hands me Jell-O.
And now I know a secret I can only share with you, dear diary.
The opposite of boredom is love."