At The Same Time

I would have never thought my life would be this way.

Instead of being excited to fall asleep because I couldn’t wait for my morning routine when I drink vanilla coffee and get ready thinking “Anything could happen today!”, I dread the night because I know I will wake up to the silence of this empty place. I have been here for nearly a year and it’s not even my home yet.

How could it be? Here I’ve come to know nearly all types of loneliness there are. The echo bouncing off walls reminds me of all the painful losses I’ve faced within the last three years.

The cruelest kind, to me, is when the sense of not being real starts to creep in. (This is all a dream, anyway, but I should at least be able to feel this imaginary reality deep in my bones while I’m in it.) It is true that each one of us needs a witness to our existence. Without it, we cease to be. Our minds forget parts of identity because no one confirms it.

I learnt talking to others about it is generally pointless as their egoistic desires make it a one-person race to the podium where the winner gets an “I’ve had it the worst” golden medal which is, in fact, made from the last shreds of their dignity. You thought you were a compassionate Pisces motherfucker, didn’t you.

With the art of listening being nearly extinct, people scream at one another, and I see this as unequivocally turning their lives into circus mirror rooms. It’s impossible to communicate.

And I long for connection.

I have yet to figure out why my world has been stripped of almost everything that was remotely important to me. The only explanation I can fathom is a seamless departure into another timeline where I start fresh.