highs and hollows

There's a feeling of vacancy, there's a feeling of upheaval then there's a feeling of a gigantic rock from the mountains spiraling and rolling through your entire existence engulfing every inch of you, so much so, you turn to writing. There's a lot in common between literature and spirituality in that sense, the traffic in both of these domains exponentially rising when you feel like you're living in a crunch is a humorous beauty to watch. I've had a writing tab open for days, but the only days I can now find myself switching to it is when it seems like an edge, probably on an aircraft with no skydiving equipment and the only scenery being clouds.

It's a lot to point a finger to, a lot of times, is it the weather? The place? Homesickness? I mean I could credit that with so much. The transition between drooling over Pinterest vision boards of countries to clinging on to a countdown to the next vacation while living one state away is insane. I don't despise college(or do I), but I despise what it has made out of me. It's pretty much a chicken-or-the-egg conundrum, except, I don't really know what I despise more here, the idea or the feeling, though it's also pretty much a second, third coming of imposter syndrome except I'm aware. You find things funny, you laugh at them, you eat, watch Netflix, sleep, repeat with an internal blackhole and constant consciousness that the euphoria is gonna last ten seconds, in the best case and every high is like a slingshot which throws you back into the blackhole, almost immediately.

You feel everything, while fully aware you're going to feel absolutely nothing the very next minute, and that, for me, is perks of being a chaotic, hollow, not so teen.

The first thing I'd wanna do is forget I ever wrote this. Until then, adios.