This powerlessness is scary.
This childish feeling of loneliness in the face of things that are within my control, within my understanding.
Its boredom isn’t it?
Cold air wraps around my exposed skin, pulling at my toes, my neck, my ankles.
I am waiting for something that I know will not come now.
There are books lying, closed, beside my arm. They will not be opened tonight.
I wait for sleep to come, at eleven. Somehow I have made it this far, doing nothing.
It is not silence, not a vacuum, not sadness.
It is a buzzing in the ears, a ringing in the ears, a humming in the heart, counting the blinks that happen, feeling the blinks, the sensation in and around my eyelids.
It is a slight frown in between the eyebrows, barely there, barely visible.
Its tight. The heart, the face, the frown, the skin, the muscles, the breath.
Do something for the sake of doing. To move, to be purposeful, in a life that will end in stillness, bringing nothing with it into wherever.
What is purposeful, meaningful, to whom?
Why did God put me here, not in London, not away from the rest of the people, but in time? In such long, dragged-out time?
How will this emotion that I do not know how to describe yet transform me?
This slight frown, slight quickening of breath, heightening of senses, numbness in the head?
Will it transform me? Is this a lesson on purposelessness/purpose? There is no purpose which is not given by humans. A journey that has an end has value because it is shared with others so one can experience more than one journey in one journey’s time? If it is not shared does it have value? If something has value, that value is our reasoning for taking that journey?
It hums, the space and time around me, in me, through me, around me.