Futiliy

I have ended nights with empty pages, because it was easy to erase. That, and a looming sense of futility. In everything. These words exist only with the understanding that they will be erased. It does, then, give a great sense of freedom, relieves the pressure to mean something, or be about anything. So from nothing emerges something. From futility a purpose. 

Not only that there is no audience, but that there is no speaker, no words - that is, if you not think of existence as instantaneous, if you not think of time as now but as what simply exists.

It feels like I am waiting for something. And that I am expected to wait forever. 
Who is expecting me to wait?
I am. I want to wait forever. 
Well, we got to the bottom of that pretty quick. I wish I didn't want to wait. I wish I knew what I was waiting for. Or maybe this is the last stop - I just don't have anywhere else to go. That is bizarre when you consider how many places there are in the world. I don't know. 

Well maybe I am tired, maybe there is no point in just taking trains from one stop to another. Am I lacking purpose? I do have enough on paper. Do I need a worldly purpose, if there is one. 

I think I am just standing at the bus stop, stuck choosing between to take a walk or to wait for the bus. I can never know if the bus is delayed or if it is cancelled. I guess I'll just have to wait.

Why don't I just call the transportation service? Don't get into pragmatic solutions at this time of the night - everyone expects us to do nothing. Leave it for the light of day.  
It is okay to do nothing at night but sleep. Sleep, death of each day's life, balm of hurt minds.

P.S: I was supposed to erase this but I didn't. I wasn't suppose to share this and I didn't.