Bitter
I don’t know how you people do it. How you manage to crawl to the finish line of each and every day. I’ve taken my fair share of punches and beatings and heartbreak. I’ve had people leave my life, both on a stretcher with their face covered and another with a “it’s not you, it’s me” routine. The thing is, I know it gets worse. My knees aren’t going to stop begging for mercy anytime soon, and my lower back is going to keep deteriorating until I can’t even lift my kid sisters.
The thing is, one of the heaviest things to lift isn’t the four-fifty on the floor or the three-fifty on my shoulders. The heaviest thing to lift is my spirit out of this muck or this quicksand that I’m in. It’s the weight of what most of you life that’s the heaviest. From a certain perspective, it means nothing. The relationships that we build, the friends we make, the goals we accomplish, the very love that connects the entire human race and every living being on this planet does not matter to the howling winds of Neptune or to the Eye of Jupiter. These things don’t matter to the massive black holes at the centers of galaxies, nor to dear Voyager I, destined to never see this green planet again.
This suffering, love, beauty, and pain that come together to form the human experience are ultimately insignificant to those dense fuckers sitting out there, filled with nothing but mass yet appearing to be nothing to our tiny eyes. If this is all this place has to offer, then I’m not sure where I stand. I could get a degree, a nice job, a comfy house with a comfy wife and a couple of kids… of course nothing goes exactly to plan, but if that’s all there is… I don’t know. I could explore every crevice of this place and see what else there is to offer, but both scenarios leave us old and still insignificant to the vacuum of space. There are even greater pains out there to be experience, greater loves and greater friends to be made… all for what? Maybe I look up at the stars too much.
I understand the beauty of this place. I understand the horror of this place. The dichotomies of this thing called life. I just don’t understand it. If it means nothing in the grand scheme of things, why do I care so much? Why am I left bitter and untrusting when you left if none of this matters? Why does this human mind care so goddamn much about those who are long gone? There are questions that will never have answers and that kills me. I’d tell you all this, but you don’t care enough to listen anymore. You were the one person who understood what I was trying to say. I miss you. Fuck.