what does one do?

Wrong, wrong, wrong. Right, right, right. Confirmation, displeasure, stages, confusion. Amidst my conundrum I realized I had the answers at home. I somehow ended with the reality I never wished to get. Yet I wanted desperately. Sometime when I was younger I was told something was wrong. I thought I needed to change.

“Why don’t I think and act like this?” I asked myself. And so an image of what was the perfect reality was ingrained in my consciousness, the journey towards achievement to be completed only a few years later. Now that it has been achieved, I realize that I should have stayed at home.

One says knowledge of both ends creates better decisions yet somehow it confused my decision-making, so much so that I didn’t even make one. I simply journeyed about, far from home, naively hoping I would find a new shelter. Answers were questions; right is wrong, and wrong is right. Gas is solid, liquid is gas — the very fabrics of reality that I built my sense upon, crumbled as I was left alone, a colossal decision to be made. So colossal that I’d think to solve it with “eenie-meenie-miney-mo” after all how could one be blamed if you rest your chances on luck. After all, logic fails against randomness. Against such an opponent, one can only rule it against itself: randomness. And so I write randomly, jumping from topic to topic, hoping that this randomness can somehow vomit the logical answers I need to be saved.

What does one do, when a decision feels like fighting one hand against another only stopping when one side is torn apart? Yet little do you know both are yours. Twisting, knotting, weaving — trying to end with a beautifully laced shoe yet inadvertently coming out as a bundle of unbreakable ropes. How does one fix a perfect reality? Why would one dare to break the unbreakable ropes if they like them just as they are?

I fixed lust with pride — solved. I fixed pride with reclusion — solved, I fixed reclusion with an act — solved. The act filled me with emptiness; it numbed all feelings, so I wondered what emotion I wanted to feel next. I fixed the act with lust because at least disappointment is an emotion felt. Cycles of solutions is my perfect reality. What does one do? The cycle I trapped myself within — the ropes that only a few months ago I gladly woven around myself relishing in their bondage — now choke me. If only I knew.