Insignificance

I have no new things to say or write today. Only my feelings are propelling my fingers to type these words. Absurd. I have felt this way before. Been down this road before. Drank from this cup of life's lemon juice before. Bittersweet nectar. Alone in my room of thoughts, I think about my life in the presence of my loved one's. I look into their eyes. They look at me with admiration, love. Why do I feel the expectation? There is a conflagration burning in me deep. I can feel it when I sleep. To be better. To be bolder! To be a master of my dreams, that I may not travel this road only. Lonely. These messages tend to take on new trends. Sometimes it depends on the mood at the time, that will define the magnitudes and the measures. I treasure quiet time. The still small voice of the silent. Whispers. I'd rather not talk today. I prefer not to move my lips to convey language. I am on speaking terms with myself. Soley. Defining my method of communication through patience. Waiting. I must take a pause. This evening, I am breathing. Breath. Feeling life as I write the anti-thesis of this synthesis. Detached. There is no significance to this insignificant, scribble scratch. Only words searching for meaning in a world of ambiguities. Conflicted. I am. I am placing my journey on a gurney. Laid out. Stretched to limits of infinity. I am composing. I am posing. I am prosing. Quietly. I have no new things to say or write today. These are ancient lines I've kept confined. In my mind.