He sat there starring into the darkness. Just a faint blue light from the wifi router illuminated the room. All his thoughts hovered. A dense, yet airy fog. It was one of those nights again. When for whatever reason his brain got the best of him. An inner monologue spoke just loud enough to keep his mind from resting as it should at this hour.

He wonders if sex would’ve cleared out these thoughts. Made it easier to dose off into tomorrow. Muted the signals of his world just enough to fade into that warm, tender place he sleeps in. It also could be the echoing sentiment of purpose that did it again. That song he heard earlier with the lyrics; “When I was 17, my mother said to me, don’t stop imagining, the day that you do is the day that you die.” And those images of the young, wild dreamer he used to be flashing back since. Wondering if the vision he once had for his life has become overrun with maintaining responsibilities he’s imposed on himself. He worries if he isn’t working towards something his life will be but a short story only a few people ever take away anything from.

He’s worried about being a cog. He doesn’t know what business to start so his economic and financial independence isn’t dependent upon someone else’s desire to employ him. He loves so many things he doesn’t know where to start.

He’s old enough to understand how time is a limited thing. He’s known that since he was younger, but it makes more sense to him now. That one day we or the people we love won’t wake up. He wants to appreciate all he can.

He sees the news of the world and wants to shut it off. The things that keep people divided bother him. He sees the game. He knows others see the game. Yet they still let it be. He knows humans need to do better. He thinks about being a politician. He doesn’t have the patience for the system as it is now.

He scrolls the internets and sees lives painted in pixels. People and their food, their babies, their lovers, the places they go, it all looks grand to him. He shares once in a while. He doesn’t like putting his present moment’s attention on a screen too often.

He doesn’t want to be Diplo or Elon Musk or Dan Bilzerian or those photographers who photograph beautiful women on desolate beaches, but he’s curious what it’s like to be someone like that. He thinks it’s likely pretty awesome. He feels like anyone saying it’s not is lying. He thinks deep, meaningful relationships with people who truly care about you are what life’s all about. He also thinks traveling all over the planet, having sex with attractive people and having a lot of money would be a fun way to live life too. He has to tell himself that life isn’t for him. He would’ve done it if it’s what he really wanted to do. He can’t tell if that’s a cop out for not trying hard enough. He doesn’t know if he can transition to that life now. He doesn’t know how he would. He doesn’t think he’s the type of person who could be that type of person. He doesn’t know for sure though. He likes to think about it from time to time.

He has a beautiful woman sleeping in the next room. He loves her. He’s going to marry her and build a life with her. He knows she probably has odd feelings about these nights when he can’t sleep. She probably thinks it may be her fault to some extent. He doesn’t know how to explain to her that, yes sex would’ve probably helped, but these thoughts will still exist regardless. He once fancied himself a creative person. He used to write. He used to play piano. He used to be scared of ignoring the impulses to express his interpretations of the world.

He walks a line these days. Along a cliff he takes measured steps to keep himself from falling aimlessly into these notions of fantasy he loves to swim within. Sensing it’s all just a mirage. None the less, he debates if his average status relative to his socio-economic environment is related to his hesitation to fully embrace the ridiculous nature within him and build a life upon its wings. He isn’t sure what that means though. He thinks more financial independence and influence on his world, but he’s not totally sure.

His life is good though. His life is full. He is blessed as far as the spectrum of what life is for many people on his planet. He is grateful.

He sees the clock only tick deeper and deeper into the morning. He knows his eyes will be heavy when he wakes up. He knows the girl will ask him if he’s Ok when he crawls back into bed and kisses her goodnight. He knows he’s fine. He just had to be himself.

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