Wherefore

How does one begin again? Where does one start from? Wherefore?

It's been months since ink has stained script and word made flesh on screen. It's been months since insanity found a voice and madness sought comfort in writing.

But how does one begin writing again as does one begin life anew...? How does one find expression again after trauma, pain and suffering. Is this the muteness that Adorno speaks of in 'After Auschwitz'? Is this the horror that silences expression and logic? Yet how can one man's pain equate with the suffering of an entire race.

Yet it feels so. The pain overwhelms that all else dissipates in its wake: work, sanity, routine, normalcy, even life itself are drowned in an unspeakable pain that is of loss, of betrayal, of fractured hope and of a biting reality of the ugliness and duality of human nature - of a single person that was for that one fraction of a lifetime the world, meaning itself.

How does one begin to speak of the pain the cannot be spoken of, that finds expression only in insufficient and inconsequential utterances? How can one make sense of this irrational and illogical emotion that is as real as it is hyperreal? How?

How does one make sense of love that once was but is no longer? How does one make sense of love that was accompanied by betrayal? How does one make sense of reality when the one that was loved was never one, but two; and that the other was inconceivable, elusive, unknown?

How does one explain the insensible love that remains for this other despite all that has happened?

How does love end? Wherefore?

How? I no longer know.

As I no longer know if anyone is listening anymore; if anyone still reads these rambles of a melancholic misanthrope who's spinning in a whirlwind of sadness and drowning in a sea of sorrows.

How does one leave behind the past to start again?

How?