The archive of the forgotten

The evening is easy

The evening is easy. The dark embraces you in the warmth of freezing loneliness. Even when you are surrounded by them; The ones you couldn't live without and still one seems to be missing. it is me, I am missing, how could I be missing myself while I am sitting here. Are they missing him too or don't they see it?

To be honest I prefer to be alone in the evening. I prefer to be alone.

The twilight surrounding me as I look out of the window at the green fields behind this home. I know it shouldn't hurt to live but why is it so hard? I wonder why I only feel truthful on my own. I think I like the evening because it is normal to be alone, you read a book alone, listen to some songs and go to bed. Where your brain reminds you of all the things you don't want to know.

The evening is easy because you are not expected to do anything. And I think that might be the reason I love it. The evening is easy because I don't expect myself to be acting like I am happy, like I am not in constant agony, I share the secrets of my soul with my pillow and the stuffed animal I have had since I was born. Is it healthy? No. Is it Easy? Yes.

Sometimes I feel like I have this sickness consuming my brain, staining it darker and darker, slowly expanding through my life and my feeling. Suffocating the healthy part of my brain till nothing is left but the void of this ebony black. I am slowly becoming a different man but I try my best to keep up the act of the other. The one I wish to be, the one I once adored. I chuckle, I am lying to myself, I cannot truthfully say that I ever adored myself properly, yes, in hindsight I love myself but I have never loved myself. I always needed more than me. I needed more than whom I could me, well I didn't need , I wanted, I was foolish. If I would have known what would happen I would have liked myself, (probably not) But a man can hope.

I look at the beautiful green fields of France. I like the fact that we have decided to move in to our old villa in the Provance, the beautiful purple fields full of lavender look so beautiful with the orange skies of the evening and the smell of rain.

The evening is easier, I can grab a glass of whiskey and forget how much I already drunk. I can listen to the song of silence that I can sing along to in harmony. I can feel like I am miserable without needing to tell them what I am thinking, I can sing along to the kafkaeusque feelings trapped in my mind. I can play the symphonies of nihilism, I can be nothing, while being everything I need to be. I can be hopeless while still wanting to feel better.

And than we have the night. Which isn't easy, when I go to sleep I am locked inside a mind that does not resemble mine. I cannot wake myself but I know that it will happen, I am terrified of sleep. Although I do not remember the dreams clearly I know what it does with me. They've told me enough times. I do remember the fact that he always returns, the tall pale man. If I would need to tell you who he was I would call you the grim reaper, but I know i is probably not him. I could not describe him to you. I only know that every night he does something else that I cannot understand. I've been buried in the dreams, I've been crushed, I've been operated on without sedation. I don't know the details. The doctors say that that is natural with night terrors. My best friend keeps telling me how scared he is when he sees me like that. Panicking as if I am close to dying but he can't do anything to wake me up. I sigh.

Evening is easy but night is hard. I am afraid to sleep, resulting in even more distress. I would do everything to avoid sleeping, I drink too much cafeinne, I shower too cold, everything to ecape the monsters. But as long as I don't sleep.

The evening will be the only thing that is easy. I think as I walk through the lavender fields of my family, the odour reminding me that the evening is easy but sleep is something to be cherished. I forgot you get sleepy from lavender. I lay down in one of the pathways. I close my eyes and slowly expand my lungs. I wonder when the world will end, when I will have enough nerve to end my life, when I will know that it is the final night alive is, when I can pray if I have done enough to be a good person, when I will be thinking about after death. And even if it is the the end.

The evening will be easy. Try you best to be yourself, learn how you hate yourself, remember to love yourself, curse your depression and bless your illness, read your book, talk to yourself, remember who zyou are and who you were supposed to be, draw your last drawing, be silent, sing your last song, dance your final dance, play your last symphony, drink your last glass of alcohol,  have your last supper, understand yourself, be puzzled by yourself, share your tears with your pillow, ask your question to the silence, imagine your last wish, love your last memory, dream your last dream, have your last scare, cry one last time, hate yourself one last time, curse yourself one last time, tremble for the last time and write your a masterpiece, for the last time.

That evening was easy to decide. To live on without you was more difficult