Within my heart lie the sounds of many voices, and they are always changing, yet the same sound comes from them, the same pitch or vocal control. Yet I listen again and again; I don't seem quite convinced that what I am is exactly a part of me to be convinced that I am. The annoying approach from my brother as if not to disturb me disturbs me, and the constant assumption I must make about them, because I don't ask what's going on in their mind. I don't seem to quite want it yet; I am still affected by a moment that I cannot control. Did I even want to control? or did I simply care? I simply prefer not the constant sound of their voice, yet it's uncomfortable to be near them?
It's a constant, not a battle, but a constant nagging revelation that I may want to do something more than sit at this desk chasing my dreams, which isn't writing. But I don't care. Always searching for ideas, yet I've never performed or practiced any of those amazing ideas for myself, like becoming an expert at my language, or math, or anything in order to understand myself. It always didn't depend on the search but on who is searching, the me that sounds empty or the me that admits. I truly hate myself.