Living in the Past
Every time I see that fucking counter I watch it ticking away the seconds until I lose something irreplaceable forever. God, that damn thing makes me feel ridiculously miserable.
Especially because there's nothing to blame but my own failure at being able to provide anyone with anything even remotely resembling basic human necessities.
5768 years on this ball of dirt. Only five of them mattered.
I'll retell it again because it hits home so well: A friend sits down at a table where four of us are waiting to eat. With him he brings three potatoes. If no anyone refuses to give theirs up and be the one that doesn't eat, he takes them all away. But if you agree to give yours up, he takes yours away anyway.
You either go hungry and give away the only thing you have, or grip it so tightly that no one, including you, gets to have it.
I chose to go hungry and have been waiting at the foot of the table for so long for scraps that will never come. It was my choice and now my starvation is killing me as I watch the one I sacrificed for fill himself.
It's hard not to regret.
That is undoubtedly the most understated thing I've said in all my days.
I strive to be without want as much as possible, but the thing I want is a piece of my soul that I freely and happily gave away.
Happiness has never been a guest of mine. I keep starving myself to put food on its plate and wait for it to show up, but that food rots to the sound of a growling gut.
If I don't figure out a way to invite him in soon, this process of breaking that I've been undergoing for so long now will finally come to an irreparable end.
I will never be complete again. Part of me will be trapped in that eternal sorrow for which there is no cure, nor any escape.
The rest of me has to find a way to forge ahead...has to find that path I've been searching for to no avail for over a year now.
I thought I had nothing left to give, but I was wrong. There is plenty of me still left to die this slow death, plenty of me still left to count the seconds until the last beat of a broken heart.
Especially because there's nothing to blame but my own failure at being able to provide anyone with anything even remotely resembling basic human necessities.
5768 years on this ball of dirt. Only five of them mattered.
I'll retell it again because it hits home so well: A friend sits down at a table where four of us are waiting to eat. With him he brings three potatoes. If no anyone refuses to give theirs up and be the one that doesn't eat, he takes them all away. But if you agree to give yours up, he takes yours away anyway.
You either go hungry and give away the only thing you have, or grip it so tightly that no one, including you, gets to have it.
I chose to go hungry and have been waiting at the foot of the table for so long for scraps that will never come. It was my choice and now my starvation is killing me as I watch the one I sacrificed for fill himself.
It's hard not to regret.
That is undoubtedly the most understated thing I've said in all my days.
I strive to be without want as much as possible, but the thing I want is a piece of my soul that I freely and happily gave away.
Happiness has never been a guest of mine. I keep starving myself to put food on its plate and wait for it to show up, but that food rots to the sound of a growling gut.
If I don't figure out a way to invite him in soon, this process of breaking that I've been undergoing for so long now will finally come to an irreparable end.
I will never be complete again. Part of me will be trapped in that eternal sorrow for which there is no cure, nor any escape.
The rest of me has to find a way to forge ahead...has to find that path I've been searching for to no avail for over a year now.
I thought I had nothing left to give, but I was wrong. There is plenty of me still left to die this slow death, plenty of me still left to count the seconds until the last beat of a broken heart.
posted by red at 01:11
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