tsvetoslav shalev

How would You have started this short note? What goes through Your tired mind shortly before You trade consciousness for sleep’s oblivious embrace? Do You mull over each and every word, reauthoring half-baked ideas in Your mind? What makes You put off a much-needed respite from the sensory overload of the day? Are You alone in Your dimly-lit room, in the company of the hum of a laptop’s fans and the muffled noises of humanity outside? Or, are You alone in someone else’s room, observing, but never really questioning the situation You are finding Yourself in? Can You trust Your mind’s stream of consciousness, or do You feel the urge to reign in Your fingers, like the so many horses of an ancient chariot, exacting symmetry and obedience? Is it because You feel like talking to another, but unknowing of the subject, that You reach out for the pen and paper, for the keyboard, instead? Do You honestly believe that any of it matters? That any of this, ultimately has its place in something greater? Do You have a plan, or are You driven by pure stubbornness? How long can You possibly do this for, on sheer willpower and not much else? If sincerity actually matters to You, why don’t You reach out and say it? Are You afraid of the response?

Yes.