For someone who harbours sentimentality like a cheated lover bears a grudge, I sure swing between the desire to capture momentous occasions in a myriad of symbolic trinkets, or, to hide them all and make the outward appearance as barren and monkish (if you will) as possible.
What is the barest of necessities anyway. I announce myself... 'disaffected' at the moment. For a while now, and (disturbingly) for the foreseeable future. Let's see if I can muster the energy to care about things sometime soon.
I admit, I have stooped. I shall lay low in my fog of vague discontent. These fumes are as 'natural' as the cigarette smoke is to the tar-charred lungs of a smoker. Familiar, necessary, and inevitably, toxic.
One could say the human condition is dictated by self-love. The apathetic do not care to extend any acts of benevolence. But I know myself, I am apathetic but I am not forsaken (God forbid, keep this far from me). It is desolation, sure, but this is not permanent (though it feels like it, God knows).
To keeping my head low, and trying my best to be charitable. God-willing.