Sean Burdett’s review published on Letterboxd:
Sometimes it feels like I’m at the end of myself. It’s a strange feeling, indescribable almost, like what’s in front of me has disappeared. I stretch out my hand and there’s nothing to grab onto; the world is empty, nothing lies ahead. I yell into nothingness as I pray there’s more; nothing comes but I yell all the same.
Sometimes I’ll go outside in the pitch black, darkness enveloping me, street lights the only guide. It’s comforting almost, emptiness feels warm like that because it feels right. It’s like a blanket, the air denser than I, swallowing me whole. I feel covered, clothed in those moments because it feels like what’s around me is real for once.
I’m lost and unsure, never sure what’s up and what’s down. I feel completely fine most of the time, but for little moments, I’m completely lost. Sometimes the little moments become bigger than they should; sometimes they swallow me whole. There has to be more, but I don’t want there to be.
Isn’t that the issue? Hurtling towards death, desperately afraid of the end, but even more scared that it’ll never end. Answers seem obvious, and explanations clear, but that doesn’t make it any easier, any better. Fear of both, fear of neither, fear of something else. I’m usually able to make peace with it, but sometimes it’s all too much.
It’s coming back to me now. I was in second grade I think, something on my mind -- not sure what. I prayed for an answer day in and day out; not sure why, but it mattered. One day, in the middle of the night, electricity coursed through my veins and I heard the answer right in the center of my chest, like it was being carved on my ribcage. I’m not sure if that means nothing or everything.
Every other prayer, completely unanswered. Silence, every day, for years. Until... until nothing. All-consuming silence ever since that day. I’ve long since given up, but I still try. Words thrown into the abyss here and there, not a single one landing. I’d think that one night wasn’t real, but it has to be. I felt it, I felt something. Maybe it wasn’t there, maybe it was just me, but I need it to be real sometimes.
May everything come true. May they believe. And may they laugh at their passions. For what they call passion is not really the energy of the soul, but merely friction between the soul and the outside world. But, above all, may they believe in themselves and become as helpless as children. For softness is great and strength is worthless. When a man is born, he is soft and pliable. When he dies, he is strong and hard. When a tree grows, it is soft and pliable. But when it's dry and hard, it dies. Hardness and strength are death's companions. Flexibility and softness are the embodiment of life. That which has become hard shall not triumph.
Faith is strange. I have none; I want some; I wish I didn’t; I do; I need something; I want nothing; I'm safe without it; I’m hopeless without it; I’m crying for more; I hope I don’t need it. Everything is muddy, nothing makes sense, and I’m left grasping at anything that’s in front of me. I’m not sure who I am or where I’m going, but this makes it make more sense somehow.