A Certain Sort Of Loneliness

The Second Diary Entry

  He writes rules for himself because the world is full of them: unwritten, unspoken - firm yet formless, clear-cut yet contextual and questionable at the best of times. 

I feel an author's note at the end might ruin the effect of this chapter, so I'm putting it here instead.

I apologise for the lack of plot in this chapter, I had planned on putting in more but felt this was necessary to get out of my system first aha. I've put a lot of thought in to this, lots of big thoughts in here so I'd really love to here if anyone has any sort of response to this - perhaps your own rule, your own thoughts, anything!  I'm not really sure how many people are even still reading this here so I'd really appreciate a comment (even if its just single word so i know someone's there haha)

(Another loose sheet from his collection, a coverless diary made up of torn out pages, strewn across his world by way of paper airplane)

Things to live by:

• Things are the way that they are, except for when they're not

(Because the world is built up upon contradictions: back and forth, back and forth, exception after exception filled with the self-assured heat that
comes with each new decision we make)

• You will be hurt in life, over and over - and you will hurt others, too. There is no way around this; we can only hope to heal and help as much as we can

(He's done a lot of hurting in his lifetime - and he's hurt those around him too. We are preordained to hurt: predetermined to receive and return hurt - less an act of give and take but more one of transfer, reshaping and reforming suffering, over and over, no different than the typical act of exchanging energy)

• The world exists in cycles

(Therefore we are finite - it is only through the recognised existence of these cycles that we have these broken circles - unfinished circuit after circuit that humanity can never hope to complete, only to
prolong the end of. Only through these can we close our minds to a thought: ashes to ashes, dust to dust, symbolic of our unfinished selves that never truly stop, but rather take unseen steps forward along the untrodden path)

• And as such, everything is repeated and no-one really changes

(People cannot change. Instead, we build upon ourselves throughout our lives, our thoughts and feelings serving as the building blocks towards our ever growing aspirations - it's a far way to look
down and see where you began when you're so high up.

But perhaps this is not an apt comparison - maybe we are more like russian dolls, encasing our true selves in layers of make-believe and scripted roles, waiting for someone to pull us apart, already knowing what and who we are inside.

Or maybe we are human - too complex and contradictory to simplify with basic metaphors and similes, good and bad switching back and forth as the lines seem to blur entirely in the eyes of man.)

• Your phone camera will never capture the night sky as beautifully as your eyes can see it

(And it's disappointing everytime)

• The ability to "want" is more important than you'll ever know

(But you find yourself trying anyway - pulling out your phone at 3am to take hazy pictures of a pale white dot in the sky a million times over)

• Time heals all wounds

(And there's a million 'but's and 'however's here that he leaves unsaid)