maybe we lived too hard. wore ourselves out. i just wish it felt like there was more to show for it.

i saw a familiar chap last night. he played some songs. we laughed a little. he's one of those characters you come across in your life, the kind who seem to mean it. to mean it all. the kind you wish you were.

i haven't done anything good lately. (maybe ever.)
i can't remember the last time i meant something.
i keep asking myself, or the universe, or time, or God, or no one, if i ever meant anything at all.

i can't seem to find a familiar fiber.
are we supposed to feel like this?
are there supposed to be this many questions?

i can't shake the feeling..
it's like i froze somewhere ages ago, and someone somewhat thoughtful tucked me inside a bear--in amongst its hot wet guts--and forgot me there...and when i awoke, i thought i was the bear...existed for so long, contorted and distorted in my decaying facade...

and that's probably just the worst analogy in the world, but it's just the very only feeling it's felt like. so now here i am, in the january air, holding scraps of hair fast about me as i try to perceive myself as this person who's unwittingly emerged "from the belly of the beast." and coping with ancient recollections of the future. lamenting the seasons misspent, hoarding and hibernating. recognizing a self no one has ever seen. aching through the process of redemption. feeling so foreign.

i want to be sincere.
i don't know how.
i want to mean it.
but i don't know if i do.

it's all too new.