Be honest, he thought to himself.

How can I be honest? How can I even pretend to be honest? Everyone is reading, judging, compartmentalizing my thoughts into proper little boxes. They only ever get a surface view, they only get a glimpse. What then is the point?

Of course, the point. Always we must come back to the point. The dot at the end of the sentence. The conclusive ‘it’ that language and logic seems to orbit helplessly around. We must always come to the point.

I have no point to make, yet there are so many thoughts, so many feelings… they pile up, they add up, and they confuse the hell out of me. There are a billion things happening all around me all at once and I try, I try very hard, to make sense of just a fraction of it all. What kind of person will that shape me into? One I will like? How does a person become a person that he or she can like for themselves?

Again, the point: what’s the point of knowing yourself, creating yourself, or at least learning about yourself, if, in the end, when the final period is in place, we conclude that we don’t even like ourselves?

Life seems to be about absorbing, doesn’t it? From the moment you are born and first open your eyes, you are absorbing. Sounds, sights, voices… they are all supposed to eventually make sense, aren’t they? But they haven’t. The more I open my senses, the more confusing the world seems, and the more like a child I continue to feel. How does one regress like this? Is this why so many people close their minds to the world, why they live in their little boxes, why the compartmentalize and stereotype, why they only stick to what they know, and why the term ‘ignorance is bliss’ exists?

There are too many questions here. There too little sense to be made of too much information. Each element of life needs to be broken down into its respective designation, otherwise you’re left with a kaleidoscope of ever shifting colors and patterns, you’ve got nothing more than a post-modern work of art, a smearing of this and that which can only be defined according to other ‘this and thats’.

Give in? Give into the moment and let go of the eternal? Breathe in today, exhale tomorrow?

Maybe. Maybe that’s what all of us need. Otherwise, you’re nothing more than this and that, a blank tableau that has had an assortment of colors thrown at it with the intention of making something unique, because, to be honest, to be really honest, you’re not original, you’re not unique. Every thought and every feeling, every conclusion and the very point you seek… they’ve been done, and they’ll be done millions of times again.

So, what’s your point?

Stop trying to make a point of or draw a conclusion out of an existence that never required one to begin with. Just, breathe.