We sit in silence
The air is dead, filled with an almost audible turmoil
I think we’re okay
I hope it’s okay
Then, I see the terror and disgust register all over his face
His lips downturned in a deep frown
His eyes glossy with what looks like remorse
Hands fly to his awestruck face, he covers his mouth
I say I’m sorry
Even through the speech of solemn forgiveness
Tears roll down our faces
Escaping in a way that we could only hope to
I see it coming
Feel it when he stands
His flustered frame approaches and embraces me
I say I’m sorry
We cry and somehow,
Everything is back to normal
I wish this was normal
Always stuck between dreaming and feeling the weight of reality on my being.
I don’t know if the realism and the dreaming ever intertwine, perhaps they don’t. Are they two sincere moments of existing that may merely compliment each other?
Perhaps these two words are not enough to explain the feeling of dysphoria that they present to me time and time again.
When I dream and I blink I think things are after me. Really.
I dream of a chase that I can never quite understand.
What am I chasing? Why?
These questions are always formulated in my head. Always lingering when I feel as though I may have caught that thing, that concept, that emotion… or whatever it is.
When I’m in the realm of realism, I feel the most alive that I can ever feel.
I feel the hurt of the world, the pain and the agony of those who suffer. I feel all of the things that I shall never wish for even the worst of enemies to experience.
I tend to always understand and conceptualize the world this way.
What a way to live, though if I weren’t to feel any of this, who am I to even exist?
It hurts him more to hear that I don’t believe in his God than it hurts for him to hear that I’m hurt.
Says I should believe because he doesn’t want me to go to the inferno.
What if I’m already there? What can I do?
Do I have more faith in a God that doesn’t believe in me or do I try to have more faith in my own conscious self?
Why doesn’t he hurt for me instead of hurting for my beliefs, or lack thereof?
I suppose that’s where the disbelief began.
I have a distaste for a lot. This may be a current event, maybe it’ll pass. Maybe I get it from my father and his father and so on.
I can’t feel, and when I do it just hurts. Everything I do, I hate. Everything I am, I hate. Or maybe it’s just distaste. My chest aches for the pain I remember and it doesn’t allow me to forget.
For the entirety of my life I’ve been holding on. All my life I’ve been feeling. So, why now do I choose to let go and remain numb?
Am I a terrible person for not caring? For hating? For throwing around the malice that I feel for myself at other people? At the people that I love?
So many questions and so little answers, answers that my mind and heart will never hold.
My life makes me nauseous. My life gives me migraines and heartbreak.
I don’t know what to do. I don’t want to experience any more for it is all bitter and terrible. I don’t like anything anymore and I can’t do anything about it.
Maybe I’m whining and complaining at nothing, but all I know is that, if they knew all of me, nobody I love will love me back.
I don’t want to live. My life should have been given to someone more deserving, like to Uncle Ben from Spiderman.
I feel like I should go, maybe I shouldn’t wait for my time, but instead create my own moment of disappearance.
Will my ending be abrupt?