Sitting on my bed, pounding on my keyboard and listening to the sweet melody that the keys make, I feel a nothingness like none I have experienced as yet. It is neither bitter nor sweet. It is nothing. Stone cold nothing.
My days pass by in a haze. At times I remember myself typing away my work in a frenzy. At others I feature in a yawning stillness, where minutes turn into hours and hours drag by with a teasing insolence.
I find myself stranded in the boondocks of my imagination. Hearing the wind howl over the deserted meadows. Watching the sun set in in the golden red sky. It looks serene. It looks beautiful. I feel the complacency creep in. I am complacent. I shiver. I am alarmed. I know I should struggle. I know I should put up a fight. But everything feels so very comfortable.
I had never imagined myself so snug in my life. It is comfortable but very disconcerting.
This nothing that I feel makes me want to rebel against it. As I had always done. And successfully so. The nothing is not a nothing at all. It is an enemy. It is the civiliser. It is evil. Keep away!
Life, a lady of infinite summers, once whispered in my ears that I would fare better if I kept running. And I have always been glad of the fact that I am a runner. Stillness, albeit its comfort, makes me sad. I can see the light when I run. Naked and free. Unbound, with the wind in my hair. But Life, the devil of infinite winters, has always tried to lure me to the other side, where people sit drunk and happy. A paradise where nothing is one's everything.
- The Rebel