writer: alloe mak

the deep angst is never overwhelming in the way i find myself wishing it was. it would be so much easier if my dismay were to come in waves of rage and pain—all-consuming emotions easily tapped into instead of this constant, quiet rumble. a faint vibration that might be mistaken as a bassline too low for my speakers to sing. 

instead of preferable explosive outbursts comes an odd tension both in mind and body which persists discreetly in the day-to-day cacophony of life. it often appears in moments when my thoughts step away from the present in the company of good friends as i reminisce. 

house parties with strangers, jokes around the pool table, drinking beer as we play cards. 

more often is it present during moments of shame—you linger at every corner of vague self-hatred, boredom, and so

much

fatigue.

during these moments, deep within me is the born the desire to be away from everything. to not be there—there with my friends, in the present, with all the distractions i have afforded myself. truly, the desire is not to be anywhere. the light buzz of liqueur does nothing to soothe the consistent, nagging reminder that i do not belong. sometimes, i turn to worse remedies to distract myself from the fact that i am distracting myself. in the presence of a life consistently plagued with discomfort, i fetishize oblivion—oblivion with you.

i ache for long-ago, forgotten nights lying alone on the grass, far away from city lights where i can gaze into the sky and see the infinite constellations. nights where i can silently and endlessly wonder where you are now, spending hours searching through old memories in my endless limbo of a mind. you deserve this concrete, pensive thought. you deserve to be thought of during moments of the sublime, instead of what i do now—thinking of you only vaguely during times between sleep and waking, or moments when my mind steps away from the present in the company of good friends as i reminisce. 

house parties with strangers, jokes around the pool table, drinking beer as we play cards.

always am i attempting to focus on anything but you, with a twinge of guilt easily pushed to the side.

you deserve to be thought of in moments of pure awe in the face of something larger than myself, like in the presence of a beautiful song or a profound piece of art. you deserve to be thought of in moments of bliss and overwhelming happiness because you deserve to be there to experience it as well. 

yet, selfishly, though i know you deserve these cherished, fleeting seconds that force me to stare into the fragility of it all; to realize that being itself is pure chance, these are the moments i try most to not think of you. my own existence is a brief moment awake—a blessing i should appreciate without being plagued by your reminder. 

and there is born the quiet understanding and hurt of it all—that nonexistence will come for me soon enough, and my therefore limited time is doomed to now be without you. and maybe i should accept that—this is the way it is supposed to be. heavenly, transcendent moments should be mine and mine alone.

moments where my mind steps away from the present in the company of good friends as i reminisce—house parties with strangers, jokes around the pool table, drinking beer as we play cards. i can afford you those seconds, and perhaps should afford no more.

but it is a lose-lose game i do not deserve to win. my unfulfilled wish to not be tormented by your presence or marred by past ghosts when i attempt to appreciate life is the crux of it all. you deserve yet you cannot have, and for the unfairness of it all, for the resentment i hold against everything which brought about your absence, i cannot move on—i will not allow myself. i do not want to win this game. i do not want my wish granted. i will not let it be. i relish in the bitter apathy—this caducous experience which teaches me nothing nor carries me one step into true nature. wisdom should be the compensation of failure and loss, to know a little would be worth the expense of this world. yet i choose my grief to be empty—the only thing it teaches is that it doesnt—a condemnation for a stubborn me facing loss and loneliness in your absence.

and when i find myself once again alone in a field, lying on the grass, under an infinite sky of stars in the face of everything sublime, i choose to imagine you next to me. with my heart full of awe, i will imagine that yours is too, as i always do during moments when my mind steps away from the present in the company of good friends as i reminisce. 

house parties with strangers, jokes around the pool table, drinking beer as we play cards.