the impact of a dying nebula

A Story by Jessie.

f**k off

The force blaring inside of me is comparable to millions of atoms pushing their potential to full capacity. A particle groans as it grinds against its neighbor, as sparks form and begin to illuminate the cell. Each one separates and ricochets off the walls of myself, turns a roundtrip journey into an ordeal, then abruptly returns to the starting point. The immense, raw heat coming from this energy is a good source, but is wasted fuel. Completely worthless, but combined with the overwhelming frustration of the thought of resuming in the same situation. Not a single sign of progress shown, all evolution has been permanently terminated. Fury engulfs my mind when the realization presents itself again, I hate to admit it. Disappointment rages through my thoughts as I think of another day depleted. A single tally drawn to my seemingly endless list of failures and setbacks.

I can't contain myself anymore. I'm livid with the idea of living in the shadows of mediocracy. To compare their mindless heads to my overflowing mind is completely unfair on their side. It seems as if my head is filled with wonders so tightly compressed that my skull cracks and bends to give way to the escaping of ideas. My thoughts that have been pushed from side to side inside of the once vacant canister have been released into the air. With any luck, the wind will catch one and I can watch as it makes a destination towards another's shot of hearing. It's absurd not to acknowledge the inescapable motion constantly dragging me forward. My beautiful mind, disgustingly wasted on my life as I know as the now. This emotion, unexplainable energy, is devastating to my optimism. All of my glorious thoughts will only be known to myself. Not a soul open to understand what I could share. Talent wasted like litter sprinkled alongside a trampled highway.
My goal in life is to leave a legacy. I want my thumbprint to permanately groove the surface of this generation. Sensible ink swirls would be color prints and blank depressions. A timeless stain on the perception of all under influences. I don't necessarily strive for excellence within the world, but what I desire most is to help swivel the shifts and roles in society. A voice of the people is determined to be heard, but all the ears have turned deaf. Swiftly sweep the unaccessable power away from the abusers and the corrupt enforcers. Allow strength to fall into the heads of the believers. The young with an old mind, the wise without the skepticism.

I desperately search for a force outside of myself to give my soul the satisfaction it's been longing for since creation, something left out by the maker. Perhaps absentmindedly, but obviously for the purpose of life. Without a constant internal struggle competing with outside confusion, our whole existance would be purposeless. The voyeur, always enjoying the actual chase better than the catch, sends his drones on a task. Our goal during the short span of breathing is to discover the one tangible joy that washes in what was missing. Humans learn very quickly that an empty heart and mind grinds their spirits down. To prevent feeling this void, determination finds a way into their mind and prepares them for a long course of fulfillment. Find the one action in this world that awesomely quenches the spoil that has been lingering in your presence. Without this effort, it will inevitably ruin your complete aura, let alone your day.

Doubt is simply admitting your body is weaker than it can prove to be. Confidence allows your mind to free itself from all taunting worry and insecurity. Without these hinderances, you are capable of pushing yourself past your average. Aim to exceed yourself during every activity, because your only competition is consciousness. The voice echoing throughout your thoughts is temptation into failure. It's the volume of the fear of your performance being trite and cheap. The realization of humility can push the weak to never attempt again with the impression that success is a distant, cold dream. Nourish the dream growing great inside. Without an inclination and spirit for what you long to accomplish, your creation has lost its purpose for existing.

But it's growing difficult to find my source. A daydream had made many reoccuring appearances to my thoughts. They all seem to start the same. During each scene the kinesthetic awareness overwhelm, each dream more lucid than the last. I'm fumbling halfway across a moonstruck room, delicate beams flickering through the blinds. My intricately planned footing is to no avail when my step slips and I, once again, tumble to the heightened ground. Coasting for a moment, I enjoy the sensation of weightlessness. The gravity has been suctioned away along with all worries of the upcoming day competing with the stress of the current. A row of trees outside shiver from the wispering wind. The moonbeams are glad and dance joyfully across my floor. The tinkling light lures my gaze upwards as I'm faced with the realization of what those cruel reflections had wanted me to see. My objective, the glowing doorway to bliss that once seemed so easily accessible is now fading rapidly. The taunting charms have left me hopeless once again. My outstretched fingers can almost grasp the eulogy of a dream, the requiem of my success, but not another flex will bring me closer to what I need to discover. All strength fades, but it's alright. The hope has become lackluster with the vision of a dying spirit.