Blankness...

Like the emptiness of space, my mind floats, drifting, a vessel without aim. Through the chasm of expansiveness, my eyes stare, glazed, into an imagined reality - the world that holds me fast, a world of cares and obligation and responsibility, that finds me thinking about one thing one moment, and another thing the next, and tricks me into believing it all matters. These eyes might as well be a machine's - each move a reflex, and thousands upon thousands of these each day mount up to exhaustion.

Yes, exhaustion - the point upon which life's release into the true reality is found - one slows down and steps out of his narrow-mindedness, and a measure of realisation dawns that our lives are of so little consequence in the end, and none of it really matters - then, only then, do we realise why we do what we do.

Back to reality. I need to sleep.