Monologue: To Whom It May Concern

My mind is frenzy with whirls of ideas, I stand still and they fill me up with thrill. A muddled pool of thought and in my mind they stay and rot. I yearn for
someone to listen to me. I wallow back into my hole. No one will listen to my  woes. My mind whirrs on taking action, but the power in me to do something is a small fraction. These thoughts plague me like a disease. I clasp my head in frustration. Why am I castigated in such severity? Perhaps it is because of my unnerving verity. I like to walk late out at night because it’s more difficult to make out the person that walks beside you. Dully moving along, emptiness heaves in and out of every breath. The obvious indicator if someone has a pulse is that breath. But I wonder with that emptiness if someone, somewhere, sees me? I wonder if emptiness is heard. If that void is contemplated, judged, or forgotten. Is that nothingness all that it is? I wonder if there lay hope in dreams, hope that someday rest will come. Someone should hold out their hand and see that I need that guide, because the wisdom feels so lost. But, as long as I remembered I have always looked to myself for consolation. I look to the ground, to the ash upon the dirt and see myself, this empty shell. So empty, so young, like some irredeemable crime I lie in wait, in wonder of salvation that will only confuse me more; here is the dwindling effect of hope. At the weakest moment my human frailty endures. I feel the dark waves crushing and eroding my mind. For the longest time, the dark cloud
loomed over my head, but I made sure sunshine radiated towards anyone with a close radius to me. People crave for the blissful moment of sleep, but I have a restless mind. I float meticulously perched between a precipice I will always fall back from. I don’t know why I always hide from every encounter I make. I have grown accustomed to being a puppet to my will to satisfy my audience. What irony, freewill. My mother likes to refer to my coming of age as a blossoming flower; flowers flash their beautiful colors and permeate the air with a pleasant smell. I don’t feel like one. I diffuse the glow of my eager mind, day in and day out this crass repetitive beat makes my body cringe, and it’s a long impatient road to my dreams. They say rainy days will go away. Always look to the sun, right? Summer is over and fall is here. With a change of season, I think there is clarity in decay. The leaves change colors every year, admiring the beauty of it all, yet it’s really such a morbid thing. It’s decay. Yet, it all makes sense, because it’s a cycle, and cycles are completely comprehensible. I think I’m over all the teen angst I had in my high school years. I think this is the first fall that I’ve actually understood things. I have doubts still, but my outlook has become almost completely positive. Having the highest of hopes may not always be the best, but sticking my foot in open doors is better than not having any doors open for you. I’m on a chase, a chase with only one destination in mind: the future. This has allowed me to see things in a different light. The past is exactly itself in definition, it’s in the past. It’s unchangeable and completely settled, there is nothing there left to reckon with. It’s all about the future, setting marker points, chasing after tomorrow. Yes, the present is sometimes beautiful, and everyone should appreciate it when it’s beautiful, but when it’s nasty, untamed, and full of bitterness, the future should be the only direction in which you are looking. Things presently are shitty. I’m constantly getting tossed around in this giant abyss of emotions, and sometimes I come out a little bruised and beat up. But the only difference now as opposed to past occasions is that I’ve been able to make sense of it all. The pieces are all on the floor, yes. It’s a fragmentary mess before my eyes, but I’m working to make it whole again. I’m working to put it together, and look past the cracks. I’m putting myself together, and setting goals in the process. It’s all about the future. Where do you stand? Have you left your past, or are you still living in it? Are you stuck on this plateau that you refer to as “the present”? Well, all I can say is, “Do something about it. Grasp the steering wheel tight, because you are in control of this ride.”