I was supposed to be happy. I was supposed to breathe the ice-y air in and try to capture every thing, to have my eyes fleet around trying to look at everything. I was supposed to feel the soft mattress of the grass and sigh and breathe the sweet flowery scents in as far as they would go into every corner of my lungs. I was supposed to live in the moment and feel alive while I was living.
But the grass was crisp and wet but still prickly under my palms. A courageous attempt to mask nature’s dead habitat with a false, pretentious green. It reminded me of hollowness… In us and somewhere down the line? All around the world.
I worry about my future but I don’t do anything about it. I plan futures of prosperity and success with overbearing confidence and at the slightest inconvenience- I near submission and surrender. I tell myself intricate and elaborate stories, then sigh-laugh and snap back into reality. I blink and feel each beat of the music of my favourite song as the lyrics sink in and I realise I am not alone. Then I mope about how no one can understand just how much I understand the song… I feel dubious about the artist, even.
I feel emotions whose definitions, I believe, can solely be expressed by poets and musicians and artists.
I feel unique in the universality of my emotions and thoughts and how they transcended the boundaries of time.
The click of the clock clears the head
But wounds persist in the heart’s stead.
Should love ever hurt my heart again
I’ll sensitise familiar pain.
I can feel my heart flutter with life and yet I feel it turn sadder and sadder with every pump of blood flowing through it.
I take comfort in not knowing and yet I feel anxious as I drown in dubiousness.
I lie to myself and sometimes I believe those very lies to a very masochistic extent.
I try to be so true to myself and yet I wear my lies every freaking day.
I feel happy and sad at the same time, and I am used to juxtaposition of this kind.
I stare solitary into my computer screen
I try to gauze the depth of life in that reflective black
I puff my breath and tell myself confident lies
and I falter at every dubious stumble
I laugh with trembles and quivers of fear
Trying to forbid the loss of happiness in its transient existence.
Not everything I write will make you realize an epiphany with its wisdom; this isn’t a movie.
But maybe something about what I write will help you or make you smile or cry or sigh… Or feel.
And you know what is better than a movie?