Pathetic

One day you are going to wake up with no more sympathy or cares or worries. It happens like this. When you lose somebody you decided to break all boundaries to love, you cry for hours in front of them, begging and pleading and kissing their ass. You say things you don't want to say, you mentally decorate their picture with tears and warm sentimentality. You sigh around your room for days, all of it feeling empty now, lonely, like you are really the only soul left alive in the universe.

The second, third, fourth times it happen, the minute you feel it happening, your heart turns cold. There is some recognition, of a moment already happened. Deja vu leaves you bored and stiff. You're theatrical for a while, only because that’s the only way you know how to deal, but you know that it isn't happening, any way. So you grab your coat, and you leave. On the way home, sitting in a dimly-lit street corner, you receive a call from across the oceans, and you start crying involuntarily, out of some pathetic combination of self pity and longing and love. But when you hang up, you feel better all of a sudden. You mentally erase his picture, you desecrate it with hatred and anger and ambivalence. You get resolution and closure.

One day you wake up in a place you've always wanted to be, to being part of a revolution, and you think this is what it feels like to be self-sacrificing and you feel good to empathize and to understand; to realize the dreams of so many who could have been. You realise you were lucky and you are. You think you met the right person, finally but you are constantly wishing he could be more. Of course you’d tell yourself that you know better and that Utopia doesn’t exist, so you keep mum and let yourself think this is right. You’re in the right place, doing the right thing. living the right life. And you conclude that this must be how it feels like to be twenty-something.

It's only afterwards that you realize it isn't true at all. Only certain things, you realize, or certain people can make you realize the truth like it’s the real truth. The truth is: he could meet up with you later at that place in town where you ran into him one year ago but you don’t reciprocate, you ignore and you’re afraid of yourself and you let the grains fall. You forget.

On mornings you wake up feeling inexplicably sad, you realize you are suddenly left with no conception of when it began or how it happened or why you're here, or you could be alright for the first time in ages, here where you've always wanted to be, doing things you never thought yourself capable of doing. And there are some things you could never give up or forget: like the emotional assurance, treating you as more than just entrances and exits.

But because happiness is a state of mind, a place to return to and remember, a dream that had echoed so strongly for one instant there in that room on that night with those lights, before you know it, the inexplicably sad morning just like that, will be gone and you’re still twenty-something. But you are doing alright. You are doing alright. One day you are going to wake up with no more sympathy or cares or worries.