Time doesn’t heal you when it’s already summer, and your heart still lives on the love you once had last spring.
The worst thing about moving on is pretending that you’re happy, that you’re free to do whatever you want, that you have more time for achieving your goals. It takes a while to recover from a person you truly loved.
The best day of your life might be you spending it alone and finding that everyone all around you is fundamentally alone. It is when you feel a sort of euphoric loneliness that you as a human being have struggled all its way into existence finding love in all the wrong places and acceptance in all the wrong people. It is when you’re sitting at a café drinking black coffee near the house across your street that you realize that everyone is going to die. Whether they’re rich or not. Whether they’re popular or not. Whether they’ve finished college or not. It is when you no longer care about people’s opinions about you. About the kinds of clothes you wear. About the types of songs, you listen to. About what you really want to do with this small little life of yours as you choose to follow your heart. And you realize that there is no reason not to follow your heart because from the moment you’ve been born you’re already dying. So you quit wasting years waiting for that certain phone call, letter, or kiss to make everything feel alright again because everything will never be the same in your life again. Every choice you made in life has both created you and destroyed you into the broken but resilient person that you are today. And you realize that you only have one chance to play everything out until it’s gone and absorbed into oblivion. And you realize that you’ve been so fucking hurt for so fucking long because no one but you has cared about you all along. And you realize that loneliness is so fucking universal because everyone’s got their own misery and everyone’s got their own pain, and everyone’s going to leave everyone sooner or later just because that’s the nature of things. And you realize that you’re not special and neither anyone is. Everyone is just everyone in their own silly costumes in this silly joke party called life. And you realize that loneliness isn’t that a bad thing after all because everyone becomes everyone. Like how you’re also your mother’s first heartbreak. Like how you’re also your best friend’s mental health issues and how she tends to isolate herself from the ones she loves from time to time. Like how you’re also your father’s last breath as he slowly but silently slipped away from this sad existence that’s surprisingly as similar as yours. And now finally, finally you realize that you’re going to die as this tragic and fragile being back into the dust of the earth of which you came from. So you finish drinking your black coffee, and you just walk as you think of how you’re slowly shedding your youth second by second. As you think of how you’re slowly losing people from your life because each of them has to die and you forget about them just like how people will forget about you once your turn comes to die. And now you realize that you’re just walking and walking and walking. Just passing time. Just trying to find a place or a person to call home but there isn’t going to be one, and you know it. And you’re just walking. Just passing time. Minute by minute. Hour by hour. Day by day. Moment by moment. You’re just walking. And you reach a point where you feel tired, but you still keep on moving and living with no destination. You’re just walking now for the sake of walking. Just passing time. And now it’s your time. Your shining moment. Your curtain call. It is now the best day of your life. It is when you die and laugh and realize that none of it really mattered, but still, you never gave up. And you lived.
one more hour of a video game.
one more hour of a television series.
one more hour of reading a novel.
one more hour of writing a meaningless poem.
the world is a very terrible place.
and i procrastinate for we’re all just passing time.
my inability to face reality is killing me.
and i procrastinate for we’re all just passing time.
another drag from my cigarette.
another anti-anxiety pill to numb me from my misery.
another song. another daydream.
but after the temporary my dark thoughts destroy me.
i simply just want to get away from myself.
but it all ends when i finally stop running away from myself.
i am more than just my temporary distractions.
i am more than just a daydreamer sleeping inside a rabbit hole.
To me, love was about time.
To her, love was about adventure.
She would often bring me to places where we would gaze at the stars and laugh and cry about all our problems. I was the dreamer, and she was the traveler.
She didn’t know about my problem. There were days before I met her that I wouldn’t even leave the house for weeks for some unknown fear of judgment of the outside world. But all of that changed when I fell in love with her.
“Do you sometimes think that we’re all just passing time?” I asked her.
“What do you mean that we’re all just passing time?” she asked me back.
I don’t know, I replied. Like how every moment we feel is already memory. And we’re all just hurtling towards oblivion. Like none of it matters.
“Do you know why I love gazing at the stars so much?” she asked me.
“Why do you love gazing at the stars so much?” I asked her back.
A million stars being so bright that I’m no longer afraid of the darkness of the night, she replied. Like there’s nothing in the world that I should fear. Not even loving you, she added.
And then I kissed her under a million twinkling stars that my fear of passing time began to melt away. At that moment I understood that forever could be measured in just a few seconds as her fear of the darkness began to melt away.
I’m twenty now.
I should have figured out my life by now.
I should be at college finishing my majors, but I just feel like I can’t because of the constant anxiety that I am feeling. I should be enjoying my life, but here I am carrying so many regrets.
I should’ve created more art during my teenage years. I should’ve played less computer games. I should’ve tried to learn the guitar because I always wanted to play the guitar, but I didn’t persevere enough during childhood. I could’ve been the writer who plays the guitar.
How can one cope up with the loss of opportunities? And also the loss of time?
Maybe that’s why I am so anxious about the concept of choosing. And time running out like there’s none of it left to be who I want to be. And I am still not yet the person whom I want to be. My mind is a mess, and therefore my life is a mess.
I don’t believe that I deserve to suffer but ninety percent of my days I do and that is why I feel like killing myself. I feel like suicide is my ultimate real choice that will end this dark stream of thoughts that releases a burning sensation all throughout my body.
The only thing I believe in is the moments when I feel like I am getting better no matter how deceptive and untrue they may sometimes be. Because when it gets better, it gets worse again and it’s an annoying thing honestly. To feel hopeful only to feel hopeless again. But I guess that doesn’t mean that I should stop keeping at it.
I guess that I should just use everything that I have now to obtain everything that is meant to be mine. Because I still believe in fate. I still believe in destiny. And it is my dream to recover and be the best writer, the best son and the best human being that I can be.