Journal

Amnesia

matrix of amnesia

I’ll be anything you want me to be, because a part of me died and I’m not sure who I really am. I’ll believe in anything you say, because I’m not so sure about the things I should be sure, anymore. It’s startling when you come across the realisation that you’re just made up parts, a series of reactions to external stimuli, and somewhere along the line, whatever was instinct and intrinsic just became shell games as we pile upon more and more laws of logic and knowledge to shield us from the grander mysteries of life.

Somewhere along the line, we’ve forgotten who we were, what it means to be alive, and perhaps whether we’re going to do anything about it.

Just some random musings while I feel a fever rising, cooled it down with a shower and off to work an evening shift. Such are my indulgences.

p/s: I also thought about how trivial it is when we hinge so much about how we feel about what other people think and feel about us, yet, when everything is reciprocated, it seems so real, and then you realise they are equally as lost as you, just two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl.

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