Talking to Myself Again

It only hurts in the beginning. Then you get used to it. And you'll say to yourself: "it's not that bad after all. I can handle it."

But.. can you really handle it? Or are you just fooling yourself? Like a clown you hide the sorrow behind the mask of glee.

There is turmoil inside me. A whole lot of it. In fact it is profusely overpowering my reasoning that nothing seems to be right anymore. It is so vehemently huge that I see only distortion. As in broken glass. Nothing else.

I am confused. I am bewildered. I am lost.

I don't know what to feel; neither do I know how to feel. Perhaps there is nothing to feel. As if there is this hollowness from which I just float about -- a vacuum that represents a hiatus from existence.

A deep sigh will push away the pain. And then another deeper sigh will give comfort.

Here I go again. Speaking in tongues. I do it on purpose -- so that nobody will understand nor distinctly define that which is bothering me. I like it this way, however. It prevents a closure. It keeps me thinking. It keeps YOU thinking.

So... yes, I do understand everything I was told. And for each of those bullet points, I have a riposte. But I dare not speak. Because what comes out of my mouth may not be what is in my head. And what is in my head may not be what my heart dictates. You see?

I can see your doubts. I can see not only anger building up, but frustration from the fact that you've put so much of yourself into this*, only for the efforts to go down the drain. You really think I am complicated? That all I am is nothing but an asymmetrical lump of fundamental intricacy?? For lack of a better word: Irregular.

Honestly? I am beginning to think I am! Because even I confuse my own self with this roller-coaster of sentiments, shooting from all directions. Fact of the matter is -- I am transparent. Hence you see this array of colors representing every emotion I exude. Black. Blue. Green.

Therefore, you step back to give yourself that time and space where you can process and rationalize the ideation. That is good. That is progress. It means I mean something. Finally.

You want to know something? I am just an android. An autonomous human robot. I function through the dictates of your feelings and your disposition. I do not own my feelings. You grafted emotions into me, ergo, you control how I should feel when I should feel it.

You are an extraordinary piece of work, I must say. You are the epitome of brilliance in that there is depth in everything you say. And there is truth, I must admit. That is why I admire you. Let truth be told... I adore you.

BUT... You want to know something else?  Robots can self-destruct from a simple short circuit. And with that minute malfunction, even within the least amount of time, the robot WILL not be the same again. Ever.

Now I wonder... if pets are missed when they are gone... will you also miss the robot?

It's time I put away the deteriorating brain cells. Recharge it. Tomorrows always promise something better than the last. I am half asleep. Is this really happening?