What should I look forward to- resolution, or reconciliation?
A man crippled by his own thoughts wonders whether the future holds any promise, whether these contradictions are resolved, whether an identity is established, whether anything other than vanity is ever achieved. He wonders if there can be another Dostoevsky in the age of blogs and instant gratification. He wonders if thought can be shaped and questions can be framed before they are dismissed. He wonders if his own confusion can channel itself into order, and how, if it happens, will it happen?
Do people understand love as they age? Or do they attach meaning to their sufferings, thinking that since they are suffering, they must be suffering for a reason, and name that reason love? Is there a love without suffering? Are humans capable of close coexistence? If yes, is it always a coupling? There are questions, there is no answer, literature is insufficient, literature just panders to what we want to feel is right.
Do people get to sleep at night? Do people get to know what makes them happy?
What is the future like?