Nothing between my ego and I

Should it sadden me I don’t aspire to anything? Is life immensely more than what I’ve been living and I’m too blind to see? It’s like there is a huge space between what I am today and what I am inside. But I don’t know who I am. I have an idea, or is it my ego? 

I do not enjoy writing questions down like this. They make the process poorer. I’m hating what I’m writing at the moment, it shows lack of intellect and a huge inability to transfer my sentiments to the notes in the form of words. I now hear Claire inside my head and her english tone of narrative and sounds of Japanese blood being dropped in an anime - but this one isn’t inside my head, it comes from Eduardo’s iPad. 

I was meaning to write today. I have actually been meaning to write for a while but words are escaping me like my appetite. I force them down my throat and out my mind - foods and words. I suffocate at both. In all honesty that contrasts some frugal phrases - I see those frugalities as petals in a flower - I, today, write with the rawness of someone whose temper has gotten shorter, emotions have gotten broken and all over the place, and the appetite for life - a third appetite - has gotten lost. 

Friends getting engaged to be married soon. People moving on with their lives writing their own stories. Not like I write my own. They’re physical. I’m theoretical. They do. I write. Writing excites me because here I am invincible, as heroic as it might sound. But out of here, I don’t see me going anywhere. And the will to go does not come either. Is it something naturally imprinted inside of us or do we grasp it with our trembling anxious fingers at any given chance? The odds are evens for so many… 

Yet I’m lost in space. 

Lost is the word for me. Although I stress it one more time that I’m only lost in the world of living not in the world of imagining.