Muddled Thoughts

It is 11:14 pm, and am lying on a cot, literally under the stars. Crickets are chirping. I can hear the cars cutting the air as they drive past my house. The moonlight is beyond magical. So guess what? It's the perfect time to write something melancholic. 

I feel peaceful, yes, but there is also this sadness deeply rooted in my being. My dad smiles are more frequent than the happy ones. Whatever i achieve or master, I lose the feeling of content and satisfaction in myself in a couple of days. Days and nights feel longer for no reason. I yearn for love and luck every passing hour. No matter what I do or who am with, there is this sense of missing something or somebody. Nothing is ever enough. I live the present wearing the lens of nostalgia and then complain about missing the moment. It's like i know what am doing but I dunno what for. Most of the times whatever i think or say makes no sense but at the same time is pensive af. I feel like a weirdo who never fits in, who is either looking out of the window when sitting indoors or looking inside while lying on the grass outdoors. 

There is so much depth in everything I see yet I get tripped over in the surface level everytime. I live in metaphors and love in paradoxes. These late night musings are starting to sound like memoirs that mental patients write, but I assure you that being too sane and aware about oneself is much worse than someone who is so lost and estranged from reality. 

Why did I write this? I have no clue. If only there are clear directions to take me to the origins of these clumsy and muddled thoughts.