Always back to Anxiety 

I’m fucking shaking

Can’t breathe 

Neither here nor there

Can’t breathe 

Don’t know what to do 

Can’t breathe 

I’ll break everything 

Can’t breathe 

Can’t breathe 

I can’t  

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Transcending Purgatory

I’m coming to terms with the fact that I might never be able to let go, that I’m probably never going to be the way I was. I suppose that’s not entirely horrible. 

I’m finding that anything, everything, everyone we come across in life change us in a way that molds us into who we are ultimately destined to become. That some have more of a long-lasting effect on our soul despite an evanescent presence. This is an ironic reality, but a reality all the same. 

I think it’s time to finally move on, time to allow my sorrow to become my strength, time to embrace who I’ve become. It’s time to acknowledge that you were here, but that you are now gone, and that that’s okay. It’s time to learn how to breathe again. 

 

The Reluctant Existenialist Δ

It was almost as if it didn’t matter– yes and no began to mean the same thing. A nod in approval or a shake in denial, a smile in favor or a creased forehead in strain…each of these gestures were useless and of equal importance in their rivaling inadequacy. I suppose some humor may be extracted from this instance of absolute irony. 

Whichever decision is made, however much time is taken to make it, whoever is involved in such a process, what does it really matter? In the end, the outcome shall be. And while it may be different from any other that might’ve occurred had there been a slight alteration in the sequence of events that preceded its birth, worrying about what might be seems as fruitless as dawdling on what could’ve been. 

Tainted Looking Glass 

Swampy puddles

Muddled pasts

Look me in the eyes

Drowning in thoughts past

Reflections in a looking glass

As I wonder, “Who am I?”

Sinking deeper into myself

But I don’t know who that is

Almost feels like drowning now

Less a curse, oblivion feels more like a gift

Lost now, within this maze

Don’t remember where it began

But I suppose that’s the point

What does it matter, who I really am?

Enduring Loyalty, Wavering Sanity 

I wanted to tell you about the kind of music I’ve been listening to, how much it reminds me of you. You were right, the words are hardly as important as the melody and the way it makes me feel.

I wanted to let you know that I’ve been feeling less anxious about doing things I like, that I took your advice about doing shit just because I wanted to, because I can.

I wanted to say that I fucking miss you and that there isn’t a moment where your absence doesn’t gnaw at me from somewhere inside, I’m not quite sure where.

I wanted to tell you that things are different now and that although different might not necessarily be better, I’m not who I used to be. I guess I’m thankful for that.

I would’ve really liked for you to have known this new me, since you are largely responsible for her. I like to think that you are always with me, always watching, always smiling in that knowing way, always protecting.

I wanted to let you know that I love you, and that I know now what that means. I don’t ever want to treat you like a memory, because a memory has little place in the present beyond momentary acknowledgement. I’m realizing that a bond like ours doesn’t unravel in the face of something as meager as distance or time or reality.

I wanted to tell you that I’ll always be yours, whether or not you existed.

What’s the view like, inside your mind? 

“Do you think about it?”

“Oh, all the time. It’s the sort of thought that never goes away, you know?”

“How does it make you feel?”

“All sorts of ways, mostly sad. There’s this lingering sadness that functions as the constant backdrop. Over that, sometimes there is a moment of fleeting excitement, reluctance, confusion, happiness even.”

“Is that the only way you’re able to feel happiness then, momentarily and through connection with these thoughts?”

“Well, no. I mean, not necessarily. There are different kinds of happiness, aren’t there? I suppose I am able to feel other kinds of happiness about and for things entirely seperate from these thoughts. But no other happiness seems to count as much as this one. Perhaps that is because this sort of happiness is so difficult to achieve and maintain, it becomes more valuable to me in its rarity and mercurialness.”

Mirrored Realities

Things are happening

I’m not quite here

Where am I?

I think I’m sitting underneath the sun

Among the flowers

In a peaceful meadow

I can hear the birds chirping

The wind is nuzzling my skin, gently

I like it here

This here

Not that here

They’re happening at the same time

Where are you?

Are you here with me

Can you feel the tranquility?

Or are you here with everyone else

Which reality do you choose to accept?

Which appeals to your soul?

Which are you more comfortable with?

Can you see me?

Or am I slipping away?

As though I might not have ever existed?

As though any other reality could not possibly be?

Where are you?

Are you here?