Hallmarked Fantasies (2 page)

I really am wanting to be abstract
today. Its seems like a way of avoiding getting schoolwork done if
I suffocated myself with my own thoughts; perhaps I could use less
mental effort by condemning my thoughts and continue leading my
life until I find anything that would give it an ounce of
importance, not even to society but to me personally. While
pondering this, the seafood pizza seemed to have mysteriously moved
itself from the oven to my fingers as I registered its distinctive
tanginess. There are various assignments to get done yet I never
seem to have the time to finish them, it might just be the effects
of being apathetic; everyone else around me seem like they have
amazing control over things, but I don’t. I’m alive for a good
time, not a long time. Despite knowing this, my head often feels as
if its wrenching itself through every second of time when I live.
This is where passion is supposed to come into play, they say time
flies when your doing something you love.

“
I wonder what happens when
someone finds that their passion is a delusion and a half or if
someone searches endlessly for a passion to escape to, be it
anything, but would forever come back empty-handed. Where could
passion be found if it becomes lost with life in general; how long
could someone live knowing they’re not going to find happiness
until the bitter end.”

It seems as if I’d loop my thoughts
around despite unknowingly doing so. These thoughts seem to
resonate with me so closely, its probably just puberty taking its
emotional toll a little later than it should. Hopefully it could be
shrugged off at anytime in the near future. Tonight would be a
silent night, both parents are away and I’m too carry on with what
they’ve left me; I’ve always wanted to ask them how they managed
were able to find a passion for themselves they were younger but
I’ve never found the time or place to discuss these words if they
were to come out of my mouth. While doing schoolwork I’d often tell
myself to trudge along and retain whatever knowledge the task is
wanting me to have by doing. Knowledge isn’t anywhere as
incentivizing when one’s fantasy is to achieve blinding ignorance.
I frequently think to myself that I want to be happy but my
happiness won’t make any others happy, only me. That’s a shame
considering happiness must manifest its environment and not only be
the selfish fantasies of the weak. Nights seem to always be like
this for me, I cloud the perception that drives and things never go
well. I remember thinking yesterday that this house, my home, was
were my parents cherished me and aspired together in order to lead
me a life in where I could be self-reliant. Today I want to twist
that, I’d rather say that I didn’t and still don't exist on purpose
and I don’t belong anywhere, all that matters is that everybody is
going to die.

“
Life is too short to be pondering
things that will never be accomplished, I will never be able to
fully control everything that happens to me but the least I could
do is control my feeling towards it. I’ll continue wandering and
clench my teeth until my life comes to a natural end if only
because I am aware of the possibility of achieving any ludicrous
dreams.”

It’d already seemed to be a bit too
much for me to be going on tangents and not driving along my life
while sober. Like a flash of light, my entire body vibrates sharply
for an entire second as a cold breeze crawled down my spine and I
see that I’ve situated myself in the middle of showering with the
water spraying itself directly on my scalp; the cheesy aftertaste
of the pizza isn’t lingering and is replaced with a strong
mint-like fragrance of toothpaste. Apparently manifesting my own
thoughts does not affect my aptitude towards completing this
wholesome routine, although it is humorous that once I desire
ignorance it could come to me to the point where I simply remember
typing assignments in detail and then lose all details of moving
around here and there to where I’m at now, nude in the bathroom.
Putting both my hands on the wall as the water invites itself down
my spine I began realizing time was being too fast on me, not being
aware of the time around me doesn’t make me get to the happier
times in life faster but only makes me miss the opportunities given
that would help reach that goal; it’s still a shame that I must
take those opportunities though.

“
I wonder… If I were to force a
passion upon myself, would that give me the happiness I seek in
life; even if the interactions with people that I make on that path
would be anything but genuine?”

I’ve always believed that hope is
what guides us, fate is what leads us, and destiny is what awaits
us. Sadly even the validity of this prospect is a terrifying
thought to behold; receiving the short end of any one of those
desires is enough to halt an individuals ambition. After slipping
on boxer shorts and flipping the light switch off, I sank myself
into the almost plush queen bed; I didn’t give out a small sigh
when relaxing my entire being on the spotless bedsheets, it was
more of a raspy huff that resonated itself through the room. I felt
as if I was spilling out my soul for the night as I thought of
tomorrow’s miserable schedule before returning here. Dozing off, I
complimented myself on being able to keep this bed and this room in
general at such a high profile, without all the personal belongings
being neatly organized along the desk and room, anyone would be
hard pressed to believe that the room was ever occupied in the
first place; that was how clean it was. With eyes closed, I
stretched one arm up towards the ceiling as if I were grasping onto
the air and murmured in the most inaudible sayings.

“
It’s nice to be able to escape
from reality in such a comforting oasis, thank you for the
life!”

3

Love is bitter,
though I have little idea if that
’
s the precise word. It sinks into your heart and soon
enough you
’
re filled with
feelings and thoughts that aren
’t
your own. It
’
s as if
my body is only
a
measly
vessel for another, no longer mines, no longer something in your
capability to control. You lose yourself and not in the romantic
way described in poems and novels.
It
’
s not peaceful,
it
’
s not cured meat. It's a
parasite, leeching onto you and the only way to get rid of it being
to cut off the hand it so desperately clings to. Love is Russian
Roulette, playing for your life as if
it
’
s only a petty thing to
give. Love rots you, it drains you, and frankly
i
’
ve had my fill. I no
longer with to understand the cold touch of sharp fingers slicing
wherever they touch.

Loss. A peace
given to those who do not need it.
It
’
s mesmerizing to watch
them struggle towards anguish instead of giving in and relaxing in
the gentle embrace of death. Some do, and for that I have great
appreciation. When there is loss, there is a ripple, an effect on
others. It causes the soul to linger a bit longer; like a game
going into overtime there is still a winner to be crowned. If luck
may stop by, their soul will linger in the memories of others, but
more often than not, it fades, truly the loss of a loss. I no
longer wish to understand how easy it is to
forget.

People are so
dull in their knowledge, their assumptions about right or wrong. As
if anything could be so black and white.
Everyone
’
s thoughts and
opinions are validated by facts, however no one has ever stopped
trusting to consider that the facts themselves are opinions based
on previously trusted facts, or should I say opinion? We live in a
world where our grip on reality is so slim that we feel obligated
to give definite rules to the universe. Meaningless things taught
at such a young age, such as
“
the sky is
blue
”
when in fact, not only
is it purple, red, green, and gray, but also a multitude of colors
and designs that our own eyes
eyes
can
’
t even hope comprehend.
We say we
’
re the dominant
species yet here we sit, telling ourselves our own limits on earth
when we haven
’
t even reached
its full potential depth. We set down rules to fool ourselves,
though I suppose that
’
s the
only way anyone can go on living in such a place.

It
’
s maddening to
watch, to see the inner-workings of the mind, to see the truth
bathed in lies and knowing that i could never scrub it clean. It
stays dirty, corrupted. I wonder if there is any pure truth left in
the world.

I no longer wish
to understand that acceptance and denial are two sides of the same
coin. They
’
re practically
the same feeling, the same process. I no longer wish to understand
the constant narrative in my own mind, personifying the
drip
and drop of my
tears as they hit the pavement at my feet, their lives diminishing
as they slowly evaporate into the atmosphere.
It
’
s annoying,
it
’
s aggravating; the
pounding of my head causing me to grab my dark hair in
agony.

“
I
can
’
t take it. I
can
’
t take
it!”

The pounding
gets louder and hot tears scream as they run down my cheeks. It
won
’t stop.

So pitiful. So
pitiful. Everyone complains about work and school, but
they
’
re blind by the
perfection of their existence. Simple. Clean. Yet they run their
mouths constantly as if their world is about to
crumble.

The only retort to be had even today is the
cuddle embrace that sleep has been able to provide me.

Brick after
brick it falls, some shatter, some crack. I weep, untrimmed nails
digging painlessly into my scalp until bathed in warmth. There is
no flashback, no bittersweet ending. Fear and sorrow engulf me,
sheltering my trembling body from the debris around me. Such a
silly way to -die after a meaningless life,
I
’
d love to call this
poetic, but the art is ruined by the ignorance of
others.

4

“
That was a gutsy move. I dig
it.”

There was a
certain tranquility to our time together. I sat staring blankly at
dad who was sitting across the kitchen table with pursed lips; we
were playing chess on a Sunday morning, this pretty much meant
neither he or I had much else better to be doing. On top of this,
he was being unreasonable and keeping silent with the occasional
snide remark; I didn’t even realize losing this badly was possible
in chess and him not flaunting his inevitable victory made the
passing time even more
strenuous
. There was nothing to be done, I shamelessly lost in a
couple of minutes. At least he began speaking
again,

“
You could’ve just flipped the
table or something, y’know? Although you would’ve needed to have
done that after your third turn since you were in dead water after
that.”

“
I’ll keep that in mind for when
we play in front of mom next time.”

“
I’m fine with that, just make
sure to not look immature with a half-baked explanation. Let’s just
leave it at that for now. More importantly, I noticed that you
stopped talking to yourself, did something happen
recently?”

He was right, I didn’t spend so much time
crafting absurd stories that ended up only being shards of what it
could’ve been, and I didn’t pace around my room for hours on end
spitting nonsense that I’d forget about the day after. It was hard
to accept but I felt as if I had obligations to people other than
to myself, I wouldn’t even be able to explain it if I tried. I
still despise being who I am, I still despise the vague uncertainty
of my life, I still don’t quite understand the difference between
death of the body and death of the mind. There was a certain
haziness in my head as I processed his question.

“
Mistakes were made, mistakes that
make me wish I could go back in time and take back. I’ll learn from
these mistakes, I'll remedy myself. I’ll tell you what happened
when I’m not so tired.”

I will be a
better person. But, in order to do that and write, I need that
missing piece. I need that companionship. I need it to hold my
hand, and say,
“You've got this. I gave
you the slap, now it's your turn.” It doesn't even to do anything,
but it's all I ask. I used to think that writing would make me feel
better and it will! Tremendously! But I still need that missing
piece. I need that friendship. Unrequited love. I love it, but it
doesn't love me back. Not in the same way, at least. I've read a
lot about unrequited love a lot, and I always felt terrible for the
characters. I never would have thought it would be me who
becomes that character. In the stories, they
always manage to get that love back. The characters have
epiphanies, they fix themselves, they beg, and then everything's
okay!