I never knew wanting something this bad came with a free surge of unsettling certainty, however ironic that sounds. Sure, I may have envisioned myself multiple times living somewhere else, pursuing other things that I love, but they never left me feeling like this. I am just petrified, most of all, of how possible all this is. I have been complaining about reality’s lack of luster and suspense, how the greatest and the most catastrophic events in my life, however life-changing, never really merited a description that did not have to use the wealth of imagination just to describe its majesty. Reality has always been artless, invasive, bland; we usually leave it to the stroke of memory to patch things that have transpired, half-reliving, half-imagining.
I never knew desire like this, so consuming, so terrifying. But with my insistence on life and love and all its hyperboles that I’ve always believed just had to come with it — all this or nothing — isn’t it just appropriate that thinking about how things would unfold in the near future is making me disregard equilibrium altogether?
I have to see where this leads. I don’t know what to do with myself otherwise.