Down the Rabbit Hole

I'm sitting alone in my room again. As usual, really. Wondering what it is that lands me in this particular spot so often. Cross-legged on the floor in front of my laptop or behind a book or with pen in hand. Listening to music, to which I'm swaying, of course, because it makes sense and hits home. Maybe chatting over Skype. Maybe just thinking. Why is this where I always end up? Alone. Sad. Grasping at words, trying to make them into something someone else could understand.

If I sit alone long enough, I'll start thinking about other things. Where do I go when I die? Will I cease to exist? I can't wrap my head around the idea of not existing somehow, in some way.

How many mistakes have I made? I can think of hundreds right here and now. How many don't I know about?

What's up with love? Wtf is this stuff? It's the most complicated simple thing that exists in this weird world.

Sometimes I can't even remember my own opinions.