The things that we left. The things that you left. Nothing changes. It never will.
We take away bits of ourselves, thinking that we will be able to forget. A cut-and-paste kind of thing.
Unknowingly, it is a copy-and-paste instead. We left imprints into the ones we met, and they carry these imprints like a disease waiting to propagate.
We are like parasites, spreading our own influence and planting the seeds of our thoughts into others. We want them to understand us, that's why. Until we are sure that they do, we will keep on explaining, lying and courting until we feel the familiar raging urge. So, go ahead and satisfy yourself. No one's there to stop you, and dissolve in your own carnal bliss.
Please stop watching me with such sad eyes. I am doing fine here in this white cell. There are no windows, but I can still see you clearly standing outside. You might think that being confined here deprives me of worldly pleasures. On the contrary,being here allows me to be myself. No one's here to chastise me for my every move. Imprisoning me does little; whether outside or inside, I am still chained to the guilt and will end up here sooner or later.
Nobody can take me away from here. Even if they do, I'll return here. It's a singularity point. Unchanging, unwavering, no matter how much experience I have gained. The cold, transparent walls are nurturing me, allowing me to grow with little interference. Until this darkness disappears, I will stay here. Free of the unknowns, the fear of the things I cannot see. I am cultivating some kind of demon here. A demon to fight others' demons.
Everywhere we go, we cannot stop our eyes from checking out the people out there. We stare and stare, identifying the voluptuous ones and imagine a night with them. It is sickening. We are created with this basic, bestial desire and have no means to completely suppress it. From the satisfying convulsions of copulation, we are giving birth to a new life. Why is it so pleasurable? We can keep on going like this even if we cannot spread our seeds. We make contraptions that kill potential leaders and pioneers and innovators just to experience a brief moment of respite. Saying that we are committing an act of stopping the spread of diseases, we are just using these contraptions to indulge ourselves in libido without having to deal with the consequences.
Hormones bursting from healthy young skins, we bare ourselves to the whole world, selling ourselves and getting lots of attention.
'She is so fine', 'he is dreamy', 'there's something about him that just draws me closer', 'her eyes are like a pool of liquid amber that swirls continuously', 'she reminds me of my mother', 'those legs are god-send', 'wonder how he is in bed'.
Why can't we just shut up and focus. These little voices, the tiny voices, the minute urge that keep on popping in our heads every now and then. I understand so little yet so much has made clear. I'm sorry.
No, I'm pretending I am free, but I also carry the same urges as everyone. Nothing changes, nothing is different. Nobody can take me away from me. Even me myself.
I died. Everyone died. And still we rise everyday, every morning without fail. It is a programmed command in our brain. Those who sleep will wake up eventually. Those who don't will be shut down permanently. Mercy killing, they said. Atrophied, the lifeless husk is still alive, said the relatives. Yet the doctor pulls the plug anyway.
We are living. The steady beating in our chest, sending warm pulses around our body, the circulation that keeps us from rotting away, it tells us that we are alive. Holding our own breath and hope to die by suffocation is impossible. So why bother, go on living then. Wade through all those piling hurtful things, and continue making your way across.
If I am needed, just look for the white cell. I'll be there, I promise.
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