Hello. I am a person. I exist in some form of reality.

But sometimes, I'm in another plane of existence.

And sometimes, that plane is being cracked and broken down the middle.

And I don't know what happens after that.

But I find the other parts of myself in other planes of reality.

And then they come and visit me and bring clarity back to my mind.

And they become me.

Sometimes, I dance through the planes of existence

As though it was never divided.

And sometimes all parts of me are there with me.

And when they become me, I am whole.

I am a person. But sometimes I am only half of myself.

And sometimes I forget the other half.

Sometimes the other half doesn't want to exist

Or just cannot co-exist with me for reasons

Outside of both of our control.

But all of me is trying.

Sometimes, we just need a break.

And I know that all of me loves the rest of me

Just as much as I love all of them.

And I am grateful for all of that.

Discontentment (noun)

The outcome of a stagnant life,

As one which holds little to no change or excitement.

Disappointment (noun)

The feeling of a day's endeavor bearing little significance

And no reward.

Regret (noun)

The desperate desire to have chosen differently

And spent the time on things that mattered more.

Longing (noun)

The desire for meaning and purpose

When there currently is none.

Lost (adjective)

A state of hopelessness that occurs

When one fails to find the answers

And there is nowhere else to turn.

Resignation (noun)

The act of giving up

In the midst of desolation

When nothing seems to matter anymore.

Petrification (noun)

The phenomenon of one's soul hollowing from the inside out,

Turning its being into a husk of a person,

A shadow of who they once were.

Void (noun)

A state of nothingness.

There exists an unsolvable problem.

A wound that cannot heal.

It numbs you up and destroys you with time.

You may try to escape the numbness

And ponder the riddle.

There will be no answer

But only the pain of its existence.

There exists a promise

To free you of this problem

Made by one who left long ago

But claims to be there.

A master of equations

But miscalculates

And so tries in vain.

But there exists a life outside of riddles and equations:

A life with no substance

Yet which can entertain

And blind you from the truth,

And you can dwell in shallow peace

Having forgotten the sting of the pain

And only knowing numbness.

And so I wait in ignorant bliss

Discontent, but alive

Until the promisor follows through

Or I am destroyed by time.

Her quivering fingers extend themselves limply toward the gray pencil. Flashes of quaking memories flood her brain. She inhales and shuts her eyes. She can do this. The soul weighing down her stomach and pinning it to inaction cries out, "I do not want to. I do not care." She exhales slowly. She does care. She only needs to try. Her eyes open with aching resolve. One more inch… Her fingers feebly caress the gray pencil as the touch of the cold wood scathes her skin. "I hate you," her stomach mumbles. She takes another painful breath. Now to write…

The weeks roll by.

Everything stays the same.

Every night I bid hope goodbye,

Expecting him to be gone by morning.

And every morning I wake up,

And look in the corner and see him sitting there.

I thank him for sticking around.

He does not respond.

It’s okay; at least he’s there.

Or so I tell myself.

I wish that I could touch grass,

But every time my foot grazes the surface,

My soul burns against the sunbaked earth,

And the fresh blades scald my flesh.

And so I leap up into cyberspace

And retreat behind the virtual walls of my empty abode,

Praying for another scar to heal,

Before I try again.

Life is like a video game.

Make the right choices, push the right buttons,

And suddenly, you’re in a deeper level,

And a new path unravels before you.

Life is like a storybook.

Your character blossoms as the story unfolds,

And each turn of a page heralds a new adventure.

Watch the time with precision,

And you’ll see the light behind the screen,

Learn the truth behind the pages,

And unveil the mysteries within.

A vibrant life remains buried underground,

Awaiting your arrival.

So go, taste it,

And unearth the secrets of success.

Can you uncover the hidden path?

This is your clue.

*Author's Note: I originally wrote this poem in a Minecraft book as a clue to get to a hidden secret, guarded by a special redstone door that I built.

When I look at you, I see

All of my pain and all of my hope.

When I look at you, I see

Unending days of restless solitude,

Awaiting an expectation of solutions.

I remember the reason you gave,

And I had the strength to respect it then,

But each new daily death I woke up to

Kept chipping away at what strength I had left.

I keep asking myself,

"Why is he calling me now?"

"Why couldn't he call me then?"

"Why couldn't he just pick up the phone

And send a short message

Maybe once or twice a day

Instead of leaving me here

With no one to talk to

And nothing to waste my time on

While I wait for you

To maybe come back someday

And talk to me again?!"

"Why did he have to leave me?"

But you know, it's whatever.

It's "in the past" now.

That's really all I can say.

You had your reasons.

And all I can really do

Is to accept them.

Because you're here now.

And I should be happy

And grateful for that.

Shouldn't I?

The solutions I've been waiting for

Are finally showing up at my door

And asking to come in.

So shouldn't I let them?

…

But no.

It's more difficult than that.

You see,

Emotions existed,

While I was waiting.

Deep emotions.

Sharp emotions.

Piercingly scathing emotions which

Gnawed at the little hope,

The little good faith,

The little patience I had left.

And I know you had your reasons,

And you had your fair share of pain,

But perhaps I'm just stubborn—

Or maybe I'm too childish—

To be able to remember

How to move on

And let things go.

So maybe,

If you can help me

To remember your pain

And understand your reasonability,

I can finally move past it,

And finally reconcile.

So darling,

My love,

My hope and my answer,

Can you give me a hand?

And help me forgive?

So I can finally have you in my life

To hold and cherish once more?

…

I shall be awaiting your reply, as always.

Your dearest,

Erika

*Author's Note: I guess I wrote this more like a monologue in a script than a poem lol. Well, I still think it suits it, and I'm happy with it.

Existentialism is my friend.

I try to keep in touch as best I can.

We talk a lot about why I decide

To just keep running the treadmill

When I'm not actually going anywhere.

One thing that's nice about him

Is that he reminds me of what's important.

The things that matter most.

When the TV of Reality is all heartache and pain,

And the writers never give that resolution I so desperately crave,

And it feels pointless to keep watching the show,

He asks me why I haven't decided

To pull the plug on the TV

And just sit in dead silence.

And so I always find a reason

To justify not doing so.

Like, maybe next season,

The show might take a turn for the better

And then watching it will be worth it.

And he asks me how I know that,

And I tell him I don't.

I just hope.

And I trust.

It's like the same reason I run the treadmill

When I'm not actually moving.

I just trust.

I trust that all my running in circles

Will eventually make my heart stronger,

So that maybe I can run marathons someday,

And maybe I can win.

How I met my friend,

I don't completely recall.

I think my house burnt down one day when I was young.

And then he saw me lying there years later

And thought he'd have a chat.

Keep me company.

He asked me why I still lay there amongst the ash and rubble,

Even though I don't have the strength nor the materials

To build it back up.

He asked why I didn't just bury myself along with it.

And to be honest, I didn't know at the time.

It took me a couple years before I learned the answer.

It took me a couple years to learn to trust.

But existentialism helped me get there.

With all his questions, and all his nudging,

He helped teach me.

Don't ask me where I live today.

It's not a good place.

But there's still a roof over my head,

A cushion on which to sleep,

And food on my plate every day.

And you can guess who helped me find it.

He told me where to look,

And I went searching.

And now here I am,

Still holding on,

And still waiting to rebuild my house.

But at least I'm still waiting.

And at least I know why.

All because my dear friend

Walked up to my broken doorstep

And decided to say hello.

And for that, I will always owe him

The greatest of my thanks.