Love and Life are Peculiar Concepts

I don't even know what I'm doing. 

Ever. 

I try not to think too much into how I live my daily life because thinking is all I ever seem to do anyways and the act of living seems to be my only escape.

Hell, even when I write, when I paint, when I draw, when I indulge in other distractions, I stop mid way to think.

And I don't even care that I don't know what I'm doing.

I don't care about much of anything anymore.

I don't care about most things, all I want is to experience, to have fun, to exist.

I might be a masochist.

I might be chasing death by living fast.

I don't think about consequence, I just think about what I want in the moment and fulfill my reality.

I've discovered that planning ahead or wanting certain things to work out a certain way only breeds complete disappointment, anger, frustration, sadness, weakness, depression, anxiety, and it all begins with that danger of thinking too deeply into the future.

Nothing is certain.
Nothing is real.
Nothing exists unless you make it exist. 
Nothing is what it seems.

So I don't care.

If it makes me feel good in the moment I'm going to do it.
If it makes me happy for the short run I'm going to roll with it.
If it makes me feel alive, I'm going to let it.

Because this life is too short and too quick and death is impending and I don't wanna worry about any of it.

I don't want to worry about the inevitable.

I don't want to worry about anything for that matter.

I just want to be.

and I just want you to "be" ...
with me.

© Nicole DeRoy 2015