Brakeless Bicycle
Cheers to waking up on the wrong side of the bed. You're the worst.
Why would you waste time asking yourself questions when you could
ask someome else. That's the whole point of writing, isn't it? Measuring
your crazy against theirs and seeing who took a dive from the cliff sooner.
And my question is this. What is the breaking point for us. At what tragedy
do we decompose. How many sad songs before we are the lyrics, liquid to any
ears that have heard enough cruel language to know that death at a price is better.
By the way, what is death, really. Termination of the senses you may have had in
life, memories of touch to fingers, hands holding nothing but air. Should you scream
when the car comes racing towards you. Should you smile. Should you find the nearest
coffee shop and write about the real reason you slept in until almost one in the afternoon.
That's the thing. As scary and terrifying as we make dying to be, it's far from the worst
reality to have. It actually sounds quite nice, if you think about it like I do, a light switch
on the wall, a no instead of yes, an x in the checkbox. Silence instead of noise. The only reason I can think of about death that is unpleasant is that you wouldn't be able to listen to music. Yes, Ana, gasp. That's not true. There are lots of reasons dying would be upsetting compared to life. So many, I cannot even count. I've just been interested in the line lately, not dead, not alive. The barest form of existence. I know way too well that walking on that line is unbareable. Sitting in my room for hours, looking through pointless social media posts, continuing my habit of posting pictures and then deleting them. No, this isn't life. This is closer to death. That's what it feels like. Reading comments and I feel the energy drain from my head. What am I doing. What am I doing. I hate the cycle. Waking up and thinking "here we go again." It drives you insane.
It drives you so insane that you go to a public place. On purpose. As an introvert. At first, it's overwhelming. You try to concentrate but you can't because they're there, except they aren't existing, like you. They're living. Not spending all day on the phone. Not posting pointless photos, not listening to the sound of their own voice or looking into the mirror for an hour straight. They're alive in the world, changing it with their hands and words and selves. Pointless, but much less pointless. Don't you want to be the one
to change their entire hour and year and life. You do. You know you do. So do it. Don't even think about it or talk about it or plan. Seriously, cheers. To waking up on the wrong side of the bed. You're the best.