I remember being excited by things that happened around me. I recall brief moments of clear and humble interest in any given, apparently mundane moment. I become nostalgic about the way that life felt. I sometimes wish that now was more like then, but then again, it was only what it was, eternal; and never like before. I catch myself pondering now on things that don’t exist, opportunities missed and wandering memories flick between that and this. I remind myself that now is bliss, that is, if then and now are overlooked. I hope that the things I know can apply, to my mind. I know about things but there’s nothing inside, supposedly. I feel like one in the midst of insanity, of jealousy and vanity and I’m callously judgemental. I can be over sentimental. I cannot see the need for half the rituals of life, of days and of nights, of peace and of fighting – it strikes me as odd. I love everything and everyone. I miss the times that have gone. Forget it. I wrote that yesterday.