tired
For a long time now,
I’ve been sitting beside a pond, contemplating the reflection and distortion of the sky in its ripples,
the ripples of dewdrops falling upon the surface from the leaves of trees overhead.
No control over the frequency.
Living peacefully in the numb wake of those waves.
Drip drip, they’re coming again and
I’m tired.
Tired of pretending.
Tired of wasting away.
Tired of not being the me I want to be.
This pond was not Narcissus’, but humanity’s.
We all make up parts of it.
Claimed by generations before and doomed to revel in the same squalor.
Struck by the same dewdrops. That repetition is normal.
We see it developing again and cannot fight back against that coming storm.
There is something fundamentally broken with the human condition.
Call me a philosopher. Call me Narcissus. We all wait around this liquid, awaiting the taste of its sweet nectar together.
This whole time I’ve wished I could strike the pond’s center
Deliver a final message to myself and the world everyone else lives in
A Tsunami of emotion;
It’s overwhelming,
It’s ridiculously overblown,
unnecessary to feel to exist,
and it’s making me
fucking
tired. I get it. I finally fucking get it.
I can’t just exist if things stay the way they are.
Something’s gotta give. I can’t live with the nothing that came with getting everything* I wanted.
But I have to. We all do.
And we wonder why we constantly compare our states of tiredness with one another
as though we aren’t all going through the same exact shit.