There are things in this world that only make sense when you're high on a kitchen floor, cold winter night, listening to your favorite song, fighting to find the meaning behind the fibers that dictate our existence. It is in moments like these when you realize that the certainty we all strive for is simply a facade.
Degrees promise success. Relationships promise love. We live our lives trying to fulfill predetermined molds. I want to shake the cages, I want to rattle what's right and what's impure, I want to find out why we cringe at words like death and depression when they're so common to the lives that surround us.
"You look settled," he said, wise eyes holding secrets in which only the depths of the universe itself knows. And maybe that's where I'm settled: in limbo. In gray areas. Between boarders. A refugee from reality. I find peace of mind when it's 3 AM on a kitchen floor; when I don't know where I'll be in three months; when I realize that I am too old to go home; when I've cut ties with people who used to make me feel alive but now only visit me in nightmares.
There is liberation in resisting, in asking questions, in wandering. I am existing in a state between life and dreams. I want to take him with me, but I can't - it's like that, sometimes. I used to want all the answers. Now, I only want questions.