Drifting

I used to think there was no excuse for boredom. You could feel hate, love, misery and pain. Just not boredom. I thought that to be bored was to give up on life. I thought that there was always something there to enjoy, be it a feeling, be it a bad feeling, a painful one, or the way the world itself is and exists. I thought that if someone was bored it simply meant that he was too blind to see all the beauty around them and everything that life is and should be enjoyed. I saw boredom as a waste. A waste of time, a waste of life, a waste of love to be given and received. And, in my mind, a waster was the worse thing one could be.


And that's how, in these boring summer days, i must hate myself in order to be coherent.