It's cold... inside, outside, it's all cold, and no matter how many blankets I wrap myself in, the cold will get to me because there is no warmth to push it away. There's too much time for nothing, and not enough time to do anything. The wind chimes outside my window just add to the strange feeling of emptiness that's filled me today. Nobody to talk to, family's gone, no school, no activities. I seem to have hit a blank, and by doing so I've become lost in nonexistante confusion that seems to surround me.
Later on I'll read this and wonder what on earth I was thinking, but I suppose 'nothing' would be the most accurate answer.
There is nothing to fill, I suppose. Nothing that can take up time, nothing to plan. I'm already waiting, waiting to see him again, but between now and then there's nothing that can keep me occupied long enough to feel truely alive. So perhaps I can access my spring of thoughts and allow it to flow onto the screen through my fingertips rather than circulate through my brain until they're all lost. But by the time I hit one, get close enough to catch it, it disappears, so at the end I'm still left with nothing but a confused mind and a few combinations of twenty-six little letters that we have somehow managed to make sense out of.
But though we can read the words, that doesn't mean they have meaning. You cannot fully understand something until you've looked at it from all angles, all sides, all points of view, and even then it may still have no meaning. Thus, I have proved my statement wrong, that we have not yet made sense out of anything.
Or have we?
Though all this in itself is nothing but the effect of being alone on a gray cloudy day for a few hours, left with nothing but the sound of the wind screaming through the cracks in the door, the chimes tinkering in high quick screams through my window, while I sit in the chair trying to keep warm with little Phoenix curled up on my stomach. Times like these are rare, and I'm glad. I would not want to live this way, in this condition. If so, I may become forgotten, which is the equivalent of death, is it not?
To be forgotten, is to have not existed. When you die, you are forgotten, because those who remember you die and are forgotten themselves, so in all, life is meaningless. But we can try, try to hold on to memories so that nothing dies, so that we can all live in some way. I can at least try to keep my memory going, keep them alive. The little girl at the hospital, the woman with cancer, the girl on the bike... it's at least worth a shot.
And I think that perhaps I should leave these depressing thoughts alone for now. It's much easier to live that way.
Liska Community Member 
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