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Thursday, February 14

Late-night pessimism.

And my god. My god, there is never enough time. There is always somewhere to rush to, someone else beeping in, something of utmost importance that needs to be done. And I feel the deconstruction of a carefully crafted kindness and consideration. It is all slipping away. Falling away. Very fast. 

I cannot catch it by myself.

Give in faster. Give up faster. Fall silent and move on. Laugh awkwardly and pretend nothing was ever said.

These are the things I never knew before. I feel like Maria O’mara. I listen to her whine and complain and put up with it all and I marvel at how weak she is. And then, in an instant, I am transformed into everything she is and I feel what she feels and I know. I know why. I know she is not weak. Just human. And I am human. I am so incredibly human; and I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do about that.

God. All we want is happiness. All we want is time. Both, like sunlight in my fingertips, are on me but not in me, my friend until they slowly, slowly slip away. Moving away from me and getting further and further, toward the horizon, where they fold into themselves and tell me something I did not know. 

"These things don't last."

Oh, but I am stubborn. I am stubborn and I am stupid; and I will stand here in the darkness, my eyes still on my fingers, my heart still beating hopeful.

One last whisper into the night:

"Come back."

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