What's the point of writing when the only inspiration you have has gone, and for all you know, it will never come back? The inspiration is like gas, it will allow a car to move, and without it, the car won't. I know it's not a perfect metaphor, but picture just think about it. What if you saw something, some idea, that could have been yours, but then someone raise his hand in class, tell the whole class about the idea, and you felt rather upset. That could have been yours to tell. What do you feel? And what about just leaving things behind? Let it bury in piles of memories, never to be recalled, and remembered. But somehow, a virus came creeping up in the system and keep re-running those specific memories over and over again that is so out of your hands, that your mind can't even control. Or should I say, your mind can never control it. There's no anti-virus to it. No antibiotic, no insulin, no pills, no nothing. It nags you in your sleep, and while you ate you can feel it distantly. Out of sight, but distant.
Memories in our head, are not like those files we can save and delete whenever we want. As much as we want to forget, the more permanent it became. And the harder you try to remember, you can't even connect a single thread, you can't solve a single puzzle. Funny how things work sometimes. But all you have to do is smile about it, pretend it never happen. Problem solve? No. It's like eating painkillers. The pain is there, you just don't feel it. Not yet. but when the effects are gone, it came creeping back on you. What do you do? Take another one? That's just a pathetic way to destroy life. Keep pretending things didn't happen as it is, it will ruin you from the inside. it's like pumping air into a flat tire, forcing the air into it, but even when it's already full, you just keep filling in, it gets bigger and bigger and it blows. Overblown. Overfilled. Overload. Whatever it is you name it. Same goes with human. One day you say it's okay, it's fine, but the next day, you can't stand it even for a second.
Human, technically are complicated. You have all this systems, goes all over your body, I studied a bit of biology a few years back I think I pretty much know the complexity of a human body. But what even more complicated than that is their minds and feelings, in which, if we're not a psychic or a douche-bag who pretends to know or to care, we can never penetrate that thick, invisible barrier. You can look happy but inside you're torn in pieces. You can cry, but really, you are happy to receive all the sympathetic looks people gave you, and the 'are you okay's, and 'how are you doing's. Human can be so pretentious. I did that too, if I'm bored. But most of the time I am like a safe-lock.
I don't know why I'm writing this, but I guess I'm pretty much overload of all the data. In just a few days, I'm already overcapacity. My head couldn't handle a single file. Too big. Viral. It keeps playing in my mind and never letting go. What to do? Let's just transfer a bit of virus in here. If it spreads, my bad.
