Don’t know from where to start, a low note or a high one.
What seems necessary is not for another
Not for you, so why bother you
I was always trying to help
Just like those who can’t correct themselves, I ended up seeking to correct others
All that confusion and tastelessness of life, where can I take it to
For it to make sense
All the overthinking, all the rejection, all the loneliness and boredom
Overwhelmed I was
I tried this and tried that only to end up at the door step of myself saying:
Here you go again, back where you started. As if you have never left
I am not here for you, I am here for me
What else can I offer but the key that ended my misery.
It is not a secret, and now I keep saying, internally:
How come it is not common knowledge
How tragic that it is not common knowledge by now
So It was unavoidable
Unavoidable to live your story and to go through your pain, was it actual or not, was it logical or not.
Because I now know
I know I can’t help you
But I woke up to listen
I have to listen
Because it is clear that I don’t
I don’t know what it is to be you and to have your circumstances
I actually don’t know me all that well either
But if I learned one thing, it is this
It is okay that I don’t
It is beautiful that I don’t know
Its magnificent that I would never know
The known is dead
And here we are with a question that is ever so living
What does it mean to be alive?