It’s a thing of shame, to be furious at nothing. Something to be concerned about, when fury maddeningly makes its way onto your bed, shorting a 3 second memory into a neverending replay- prompting you to ask yourself the question, will it ever end?
“Will it ever end?” How could this be. It’d been good so far and you were alright. The day was nothing ideal, but it was set to hit the archive, ready to disappear under the ocean of tomorrow and the next day after that. But what had to happen was nothing. That’s right, nothing. Nothing is all it takes for you to be reminded of this shit thing that always has its way with you. That always seeps into your day, gnawing on places it isn’t welcome in.
It must be either a curse or a warning. A message from the deeper parts of your consciousness that something is entirely wrong. Enough should be enough. You never settle to resort.
But it isn’t. It’s persistent. It’s always there, and now, you’re frustrated.
Everything seems to go the way it should, lacking in taste and color, like how even your favorite food loses its luster when it grows old from constant intake. And that’s just fine, it’s supposed to be that way. When you have all but forgotten how to expect because it’s much simpler that way.
But memory, would it be so easy to forget that too- you just keep finding yourself immersed inside a broken tape recorder, back and forth watching every detail, no matter how short, looking out for the contour of every face and the meaning of it all.
The meaning of it all. (Will it ever end?)
You just want to fight this head on. To attack this invasive thing and strangle it out of its life so it could finally leave you alone. But whoever made the world never intended it to be that way- whatever it is shall always keep in the air, catch you when you’re idle, and hold you inside a loop until you find something else to do.
“You don’t look like you’ve slept very well.”
“I’ve had enough.”
(Will it ever end?)
My friend raises an eyebrow.
“You just seem so… frustrated.”