The Interim Breakdown

Beginnings are beautiful. Why not endings?
I know some questions have no answers.
Still, when the same events repeat day after day, the questions eventually settle into stillness.
All our urgent questions...end not in answers, but in the quiet death of curiosity.
 
If just once in life I could manage to bend this rule even slightly, a peace would remain in my heart forever. Couldn't it even create a new kind of confidence?
But I couldn't! Can anyone?
Let it go—there's no need to succeed at everything!
 
Even in these wounded hours of endless breaking and making, much remains wondrous.
Everything in this world becomes strange, bizarre at certain moments...even I do!
 
This is how living happens. We, they—all of us live on, or rather, living just keeps happening to us.
In the end, if we manage to stay alive, that's not so bad, is it?
 
Inside or outside, where and how to move forward—it's impossible to know.
Whatever I try to say becomes, at the pen's tip, the seed of a wise drunk's rambling.
How else can my conversation proceed!
 
In the ruins of a thousand breakdowns, what to speak of—that itself is a living problem.
But I see that staying silent only makes the problem worse!