Growing old

One day I guess I realized that I already grew old. That the years that I had expected to be the hard ones passed without the solution that I implicitly placed in them. They were hard enough. But in the end I realized, they bore no fruit. So I sit now realizing... It was all a waste. And I wonder, whom do I really live for? After all these years, a waste. I take pride in the few people who do appreciate my existence - the very few indeed. But those - I do care for. But I really don't want to go on. Not indefinitely. Maybe for a few years yet. But not indefinitely. I simply cannot bear it. And there is, in all honestly, no point at all. I am a burden for society, and not only society. It tires me and it bores me.

All I see is beauty outside. I wish I could at least properly express it. Then I would be one of those modern poets. Conveying the elaborate night to everyone who doesn't see it. Or even those who do, but only reflect on it by proxy. Even that would be worth it! But I am not. And I don't. And I'm tired. And I'm done. Or am I? I never know. Today, I will not end my life. Because I am too lazy and too caught up in the beauty of it all and the music with such depth. But one day, I will run out of excuses. And I don't think I will say goodbye.