S1- I

Days turn to months and pass too quickly to be indulged. A trend that has by now become mundane is one of fucking. What started as an exploration into the darkness of coupleation has by now turned into nothing but a straining, adverting task. I shared a bed with a girl who's beauty was one for Nabokov to depict. Likes of her are not frequently found in my bed, though the number of my female companions has grown quite considerably in the past year. As I watched the afternoon sun glare on her swift body as she laid there on her bed while I enjoyed the view from a building I used to live in, she asked me what I was thinking about. A question which was answered dishonestly, since what I was mulling over was why I self indulgently wanted to leave all this subliming beauty and be by my self. But after a few days the urge always returns, And with it a new girl. If I keep this up, I will fuck my way to the end of times. Perhaps to assert to myself a needlessness for love. But some say without love why do we live on. Frankly aside from passing on my genes and leaving a mark on the society i see no other point. Why should I? Those two seem rather compelling to me as I have no need for deeper meaning. I'm not in a state of despondency, I would call it acceptance.