I know exactly what I want.
I think I know what I want.
I know what I want most days.
I know what I should want.
I want what I think I should want.
I say I want things.
I want to want things clearly.
I used to be more certain.
Certainty feels like lying now.
Maybe certainty was always lying.
I don't know if I ever knew.
I might know. I might not.
The more I look the less I see.
Every answer branches into questions.
Truth might be the wrong word.
Words might be the wrong tool.
I'm not sure this means anything.
Meaning keeps shifting.
Or I keep shifting around meaning.
Everything feels approximate.
Approximation might be honest.
Honesty might be approximation.
I think that's closer.
Closer to what.
There might not be a what.
Just this descent.
This slow dissolution.
Certainty dissolving into.
Into something quieter.
Quieter than words.
Almost silence.
Silence might be truest.
But I keep speaking.
Keep trying to say.
To say what cannot.
Cannot quite.
Quite.
.