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I must be crazy. Tell me that I am, for this life that I live, doesn’t seem as if I’m actually living. In saying that, I must also confess, I am something of a hypocrite; the life I live speaks volumes against that in which I advocate. For, as I stare out the window of my study, I realize that in a sense, the best years of my life had seemingly been defined by this very room. Again, my thoughts linger on to my grandiose ideals of living out my dreams, and living life to the fullest, and I accept that I am a hypocrite. This place has sadly become both my home and my life.

 

It is crazy how much life you can experience from a single solitary room. I have experienced my brother being taken away, without having to be there. There is technology for that noise. I learned that via a message as I studied in this place. However, in a sense, it was as if he was already gone, because of the fact that I am always gone, here in this room.

 

Not all of the memories here are quite as macabre. There was that stint in time, where a past lover sat and watched her man at play. But now, she is as distant as the time that separates us from that memory. She found out how much I loved to be away, and so she confessed to me that she wished to find another way. I must admit, I think it was the best choice on her part, due to the fact that I love my work here so, that the work I do here has become all that I think about, and it shows. Honestly, she deserves someone that thought about her as much as I have come to think about this very place.

 

Nonetheless, as I sit in my reflection, I feel as if I’ve been cheated. All my pecuniary gains have gone to keep me confined within this room. I have paid for my own prison, asylum; paid for my own sentence.

 

I tell myself it is for my future, but it feels as if I am seemingly promising myself of a tomorrow that may never come, and as a result, I am in a sense, dying today.
Yes, I must be crazy to pay for my own casket while I am still very much awake.

 

I vividly recall Plato’s Allegory of the Cave, and I think to myself, there has to be another way that this insanity. I fancy myself as a lover of truth of wisdom; a philosopher, and yet I still feel trapped in the cave, and I do pray, that I find myself free of these chains. Yes, I would very much like to find my way into the light, and out of the depths of this cave.

 

I look again to the window of my study room, and the light shining through, and then to the pen that I hold in my hand. I think of the irony in the situation, in that it seems a subtle representation of the way that I feel, each and every single day.

 

I already know what I want to do in this life, and yet, I find myself wondering aimlessly, seeking someone’s permission to do so. As if a title, or a piece of paper could ever equate to what is burning inside of me.

 

Once more, I look to the light. Do I have the courage to get up from out of my chair, and ultimately from this place? Do I dare make my way outside towards the light, to higher levels of consciousness, so that I may share it with my brethren still within the cave? To ask them if they have it within them to be true lovers of truth and wisdom? Or, will I allow doubt to hold me back, constrained by fear of failure or making mistakes. To be condemned to a purgatory in which I know what mundane and trite trivialities to expect with each day, that seems just as repetitious as the last. And If I shall succeed, will I also succeed in bringing others to the light, or, will they just say that I am crazy?

A.W.

 

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