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16 January, 2005 :: 4:15 p.m.
Life moves forward, forward, forward...getting closer and closer to the day my library burns. When it does, how many of the volumes will be full of blank pages? Something is missing or malfunctioning inside of me; something I need in order to get back to living some kind of life and being able to start filling pages again...in the end, the pages will burn just as quickly and easily whether they're full or empty, so does it even matter? It's this sense of futility in every action that keeps me down where I am now. Maybe everything is pointless, but it doesn't have to feel pointless...I want to feel again.