Essay On Being Without Purpose by Me
I feel as an old soul tonight, as I have many nights before. And although this feeling had escaped me for some time, it has returned to me now. You did that. And no matter how long or hard I tried, I could never, ever repay you for this.
I feel like I've been living out many lives, all for the same singular purpose. And I feel as if some great deity or energy has just reveaked to me how pointless it all is.
I feel, as vain as it may sound, like the embodyment of desire. I see that as such, I am sought after with intensity. But only for a time. Because once one has me, yearnings fade. One does not desire what one already has. And so it ends, painfully for me, though not for them. For them it was a simple loss of interest; any slight distraction causes them to forget that they'd ever desired me at all. And alone I sit, again, waiting for it to happen once more. And along comes another, and another, and another, and the hurt piles upuntil it seems that there cannot be anything without it.
And so my paradox continues. I cannot live without it by now, so accustomed to it presence I am. Things simply would not be the same without it. Its lacking confuses and pains me fair as much as its presence.
But I keep going. And living out this pointless purpose, this shallow existence full of excitement and disappointment besides... what else would I do?
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