What are they? This poetic, dramatic life of mine–for what reason does it persist?
I am depressed. I am longing and broken and have nothing short of no will at all. But I’m still here. Life keeps going.
I’m just a cog. I just fit into my little nook and keep the world rotating for as long as I should not break. I am expendable. I am replaceable. I serve the axels their coffee and wish them well in their endeavours. Life keeps going.
I sit alone. I am anxious and I am lost. I speak my heart, but I am not validated. I am not acknowledged. I am not mature, I do not know feeling, I am not sentient. I’m still just that silly cog feigning stress. All I need is some oil. Life keeps going.
Life just keeps going. I’m of no consequence. I’m not a problem so much as an inconvenience.
This is the way I live. I do not feel excitement. My joy is menial and rehearsed. I do not know the life you know. I do not know the strides and the success and growth you have achieved. I do not recognize them. I do not understand them. I fear them.
My life began the day I met you. And I’ve been living my life as moments since I met you. I wonder if there’s even been one day I have not thought of you.
How can it be that the closest I’ve felt to being alive was being with you? What did you really offer me? What was it about you that has made me so aware of my vulnerability to myself? Life just keeps going and I can’t make it stop. Every day you fade further and further away. My life is fading.
Maybe you have nothing at all to do with this. Maybe I have nothing at all to do with this. I don’t even care. I just want to know myself. I want to know what you know. I want to not be afraid anymore, of who I am and what I am capable of, and what I am incapable of. I just want to know that my place in this world is warranted. I don’t want to continue living if only for the few who would be sad. I want to know more than that.