my mind has to stop running eventually.

I have to feel again. There are more than enough reasons against it and perhaps I wouldn't run out of reasons; if I think about it hard enough that I could go on indefinitely, without worrying about running out of gas. And that the more I think about it, I think I could stop the inevitable. the inevitability of emotions. Even if I wasn't built that way.  It's just that, I know, this isn't living. Or even a semblance of it.

This is only a continuum.

There is no irony that it rhymes with vacuum. I have to stop running, even if I know there is nothing to go back to anymore. Yes, I have to stop. There is a need to live again. In the meantime, I'll just run for a little bit more.