Doom-ish

Oh my, now I see so clearly that I will never be at peace-not in my lifetime I mean and, for all I know, there will be no sequel for me. The only things that thrill me are the things that exist only in people’s imagination. The only things I find to make life worth living (or should I say “enduring” ?) don’t exist for real. Of course that doesn’t come as a surprise-I knew it all along but pretended not to. Undoubtedly it’s a reaction of denial but of what? What caused it? And, which is more important for me now, what am I going to wake up for from now on knowing the magic I long for will never be there for me-because it just isn’t anywhere? 

I always look to a human life as a book that comes into being with blank pages and once all the pages are written it gets tossed to the garbage. Some books, not many, survive a bit longer in libraries but at some point they too vanish as if they've never been at all. I am halfway through my book but I don’t need to be a fortune-teller to know how it ends. All books end the same.  I feel like an idiot knowing I am expected to do what thousands and thousands of people before me have done . It absolutely sickens me.