grabbing onto it fiercely

this significant list of my thoughts,
that no one will read, and even fewer will understand
i don't know even now why i record them. what matters?
feelings? i feel sometimes that they are the most valid item in the universe
substance? materials? i am convinced to think sometimes that i must become
the ultimate provider of goods, this will make me worth it. is it the struggle that matters?
then, why do we seem to crave a ceasing from the struggle, why do i want to
sit on this couch with my feet up, and justify it to myself, and have others
justify it to me? i hate my life, sometimes i do
if only i could make sense of it, that this piece i am missing
would only stop changing shape and size, and
scope and resistance. it will not ever
cease to move, i must always
chase meaning, always
just out of my grasp.
i steady on.