Invincibly invisible, yet divisible.

Tonight I feel like writing.

Tonight I feel like running my fingers across the keyboard like a pianist in the dead of the night, plinking and plonking away all by himself in a bid to drown out the voices in his head.

Tonight, I feel the emptiness boil over and spill over the sides. So much emptiness. An overflowing amount of emptiness. Enough emptiness to fill my emptiness.

I have always been a walking contradiction.

For the longest time I have been drowning myself in work and running towards a very specific goal-post. Now that I’ve reached the finishing line (well, sorta), I’m blindsided with a sudden surge of complete and total... Nothingness.

It’s as though I woke up one day and unknowingly stepped into a vacuum. This vacuum: I can’t hear anything around me, besides my own voice. I can’t touch anything around me besides still, suffocating air. I can’t breathe; but I don’t need to. I’m in a vacuum after all.

I’ve always thought whilst hurtling towards my finishing line that there would finally come the day where I could look at my life and finally feel fulfilled. I thought that I could somehow redefine myself and rework my entire existence. I thought I could be a different person – not necessarily a better person, just different. Why different? Did I really use to hate the person that I used to be?

Perhaps.

But now that I’ve attained almost everything that I have set out to achieve just a couple of years back, why do I still feel.. Nothing?

Where is that rush of consummation people speak of? Of liberating contentment, gratification and achievement? How does it feel to fill your lungs with cold, rushing night air and be able to BREATHE in the possibilities of life? How does it feel to be able to stretch your arms above your head with only weightlessness weighing you down?

I’ve fallen through the cracks. In my crazed, myopic struggle toward my self-imposed finish line, I’ve fallen into the crevice that has no bottom. It just goes on, and on, and on. I keep falling and falling, which in itself isn’t a bad feeling. It’s a non-feeling.

Is this what it feels like to be a ghost? To be on an endless wanderer?

And then there’s the fear.

I can already feel it creeping up – the pressure to set more goal posts. The pressure that stems from my own insecurity and inane need to freakin’ PROVE myself to God-knows-who. The unbalanced obsession to debunk my own preconceived notions about everything.

The fear that I would always be stuck somewhere in The Dreaded Middle – never first, never last. Always mediocre. That’s where dreams come to die, isn’t it?

And then there are the people I've grown to regret not choosing when I (kind of) had the choice. The people that would have propelled me in the right direction, had I taken it upon myself to choose happiness. If I had the courage to welcome change. If I had believed.

If I had believed.