Or maybe in my afterlife

The calendar says it all: we’re half way through October. The month passed and flared and fell without a sound and disintegrated into fragments of recollections. Tonight, I feel like a house that has not been inhabited for a very long time.

Sometime this year I’ve lost qualms for, well, everything. I’ve grown apolitical. I’ve learned to close my eyes and ignore the cries and misery of others. Yes, the social reality still catch up on me — the unjustness of it all, the unnecessary deaths, the cruelty of the world, the vested interests of the oppressors — but I’ve misplaced the willingness to stand and defend a discarded cause.

I feel like a lost forest filled with lonely trees, and I prefer to walk away.

To walk away and seek you and unravel the fabric of the universe and at the end of this quest, to find you. My vision shrunk to that myopic proportion — caring for fundamentally nothing but that precise moment of seeing you once more. Maybe in your rebirth. Or maybe in my afterlife.

If I have to, I will slice this world just to be near you again.

Until then, I shall continue battling life — the perpetual boredom, the difficult days, the grueling evenings. Tonight marked another year of survival on my end, 26 so far. I think you should congratulate me. I think I, at least, deserve that.

Actually, in the context of our everyday struggle and tiny victories, we all do.

In its most desperate, human way, I miss you. Why do you have to go where I cannot follow?


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