Ineffable
How odd is it, to be haunted by someone who is still alive. How odd it is, even more so, to be haunted by versions of myself, whom of which some days, does not feel like to even still be alive. I reach, sometimes, to check my own pulse in some type of repetitive ritual in order to ensure that my heart, in fact still beats, even if it is without cause. I ponder purpose, quite frequently in my own musings and downward spirals, yet an epiphany of purpose has yet to strike. Time passes yet somedays I feel like I remain rooted in place. Watching people pass by on their way to the next phase of their lives. I'm so focused in on it that I feel like I miss my own growth that seemingly happens so slowly, it is hardly noticeable to the naked eye. What is it, the force that causes the hands of time to march forward each hour, minute, second? What gives it the strength to move even while I can hardly find it in myself to tick on? Why watch when my own hands seem to just shake inst...