We Never Change, Coldplay.

Have you ever woken up with an immense sense of sadness and guilt? It’s consuming you from the inside and all of a sudden you want to go back to sleep. The source of this torment seems to be nowhere, making you feel like it’s always been there. It breaks you. Shattered, you lie still. Wondering what happened. Wondering why you’re being subjected to this. Wondering who is responsible.

And a fragment of a dream passes by. You’re there. Holding a gun. Pointing the barrel at someone else. Who is that someone else. He lights a cigarette. The faint glow of the cigarette lighter illuminates his face. He looks familiar, but different. His eyes are full of hate, and anger. But in the midst of the hate and anger, you see a desperation. Why would someone like that be desperate? 

He speaks. His voice raspy and sore, but it’s deep and soulful. So you’re finally here, he says. You’ve finally seen me for who I am, he says. Can you do it?, he asks. Or will you fuck this up and not be able to finish what you’ve started?, he questions. Can you fucking do it?, he says. Can you hurt me like I’ve hurt everyone you loved?, he taunts.  

I shot him mid sentence. I killed a man and I felt such a rush. Then it faded. So I turned around and left. 

I feel loneliest when I’m surrounded by people. I suppose that’s why I like sitting on my own most of the time. But you know, some times, I wish you’d come and sit next to me. Maybe you’d solve this one. The way I’ve never been able to. 

Song for Mountains, Les Discrets.

Fuck you. Fuck you and your beauty. Fuck you and your perfection. Fuck you and...

Imagine sitting on the peak of a mountain. It's cold, desolate, murderous. You're stark naked save for your emotion. That's your only company. It's like a protective barrier, but it's beginning to fade. The strain of giving for so long is taking it's toll. You're only human, it's okay. You could believe those pretentious bastards and argue that giving is the only gift. Fuck me, I sound as pretentious as any one of them. You're going to get swept off this peak. You're going to fall five thousand feet and bash your skull. It's going to shatter, and it won't be a pretty sight. Think jagged rock painted red with bits of calcium here and there. Think brains and guts adorning the rocks like garlands. The violence is beautiful. It's art, not gore. For fucks sake you'd still look drop dead gorgeous with your skull bashed and your brains splattered around. What really pisses me off is the fact that you're not. Not perfect, not nothing. But I've stopped caring. You exist and that is enough.

Leaves drift in the wind, breeze blows over the meadow. It's scenic, like one of those children's books about the English countryside. Soft flute music, complemented by the wind. Distant humming. Soul searching. The one question begging to be asked. "tu kaun hai"? Who is who? Who am I? Who are you? Why are we who we are? Why am I not you? Why are you not me? The question has no answer. It's not worth looking for one. Exercises in futility don't fit the nature of this place. Eyes closed. Eyes open. Why am I here? Why do I wan't to know now? Why do I want to know at all? Can I not exist in my own insignificance? Can I not be at peace being nobody?

The answer is simple, I suppose. I don't want to.

I have a deep desire for you to know me. Maybe that's why I'm desperate. Maybe that's why I pick up my phone five times a day and put it back down six times and then hate myself for being so dependant on another human being like it's their fault or their need because I'm alone and sometimes being alone can make a person feel desperate and it's the desperation that makes me behave like this because I keep coming up with excuses to not pay attention to what I really need the most.

You.