Words won’t come out. The blinking black line on the empty page seems like a passage to another, darker dimension. The wind blows outside, the clouds move and block out the sun. Summer’s gone. If you close your eyes, you can hear the ocean. But it isn’t. Just the muffled sound of cars passing by in the distance, driving away.

I have made so many mistakes, and hurt so many on the way. Crossed their names and burnt the list. Or they burnt me; my ashes flying away from their existence. Out of sight, out of mind. Clear of me and the bare mention of my name. For good. For the better.

Will I live up to the expectations? One would think that every fuck-up leads you closer to some sort of enlightenment. Is there such a light? Or do we blindly believe in it, to cope with the daily dose of anxiety of this otherwise purposeless, finite time that we call “life”?

Some timid rays of sun make their way through my window. Maybe not all is lost. And maybe, behind the thick facade of normality, even idiots ponder on existential questions that echo in an unresponsive void in the blacker depths of the collective mind. I wonder now if I’m smart at all, or a mere simpleton, prone to over-thinking.