Nothing has been heard.

I'm done with the metaphors. I'm done with the similes. I'm tired of analogies and trying to explain things by the means of examples.

I'm exhausted.

This might be the most raw post I've ever written, careless in the expectation of its aftermath, carefree in its reaction. I want to let my fingers glide across the keyboard, untethered and free.

If only I could. Not because someone bar myself is stopping me. But because even the normally simple and easy task of writing is a huge mountain for me to climb.

A lot has been said about people taking a break and not willing to wake up in the mornings, but it is not the unwillingness that is the cause - it is like the entire sky is anchored up on you, and much like an unwilling Titan Atlas you can't give in, nor give up.

A lot has been said about focus and the lack of it, not for the worse. It is more like the eyes have forgotten how to translate the words and images into meaning inside the brain. The black letter is equivalent to a Buffalo, they said. At least the buffalo has some use.

A lot has been said about depleting social energy and the unattractive romanticisation of solitude. Yet it is more like being exasperated with people and frustrated with oneself - nobody's voice being soothing and your own being crass.

A lot has been said about running away to a distance, yet the destination may just be to be found. It's like wandering aimlessly to find an aim, and once you've found it there's nothing to hit it with.

A lot has been said about the eyes and their leaking, or the lack of it. When your own tears are so salty they hurt your skin, and you can't help but wipe them away in frustration as you realise you cannot even cry in peace.

A lot has been said about the hunger of food or the nutrition of emptiness, but when food remains food and you remain detached, that's when the hunger of emptiness consumes you.

A lot has been said.

A lot has been said, and nothing has been heard.