Waiting

I feel like I'm waiting for something.

And I don't know what that is. 

The only reason I'm not losing myself to insanity is that I'm clinging on to this fragile thread of hope that there is something better on the other side. 

I don't know where the other side is. I don't know what I'm waiting for. And I don't know when that is. 

Life is funny this way: it sucker punches you in the stomach, leaving you rolling in pain on the floor until someone nice comes along and you think that life is beautiful. Then the person sucker punches you and you roll on the floor in agony and the whole thing repeats itself. 

I hate the way that nothing is ever certain in life. I hate that I can't see beyond the fog into the future. I'm used to being know-it-all and I can't stand not being able to know my own path. I don't like surprises. I hate the what-ifs in life. I hate the I-could'ves in life. I hate the why-didn't-Is in life. I hate the I-don't-know-and-never-would-until-it's-too-lates in life.

I hate being unable to hate life despite everything. And I hate not knowing what I'm waiting for or if it's even going to happen.

I'm tired of waiting. I'm tired of being tired.