What did we do to save it? And who were we saving it from? The Bad Guys. It seems so funny now to think about it. We were saving the world from Death. I thought, we all thought, that we were helping to , if not stop Death, slow it down. I actually believed that I could talk with creatures, that there were planets outside of our galaxy that could support life. Theoretically perhaps, but logically? Realistically?
My family was right. I was childish. I was irresponsible. I can't blame then entirely for turning me out. I suppose I must have been insane as well. I see that now. It makes sense. My family has a history of mental instability., mine just took a less sensible form. I thought I heard voices on the wind, I thought I could seriously will things to happen. I believed that my dreams actually meant something besides that I had too much pizza before bed. I believed I was, of all things, a wizard.
I know better now.
I dreamt last night of a darkness that was Nothing. Not Cold. Not Achy. Not even Numb. I couldn't even really say "it was"…anything. Because it wasn't.
It Wasn't.
I don't really feel like writing anymore. With all that's going one in the world, all the wars that are just popping up like I could never believe possible, writing doesn't seem that important. I know, it used to once. It used to matter very much. Back when I pretended words had meaning. Back when I thought I was a wizard. But it's nothing ,really. Just lines on paper. And it is, more than anything else, a waste of time.
So why do I keep writing? Habit I suppose.
When everything ends, it won't matter. Everything will end. Soon. It only makes sense.
I write because this is what I do. So I do it.
This is what I do.
I'd said that before, to my family, while I was crazy.
"This is what I do. This is what I am. I am responsible. "
And I thought I was. Playing make-believe. I thought myself very adult like. Back when words had meaning. Back when I heard voices in the grass. Back when I dreamed.
I have stopped dreaming.