"maybe one day you'll call me
and tell me that you're sorry too."
-harry styles (from the dining table)
-
louise
Underneath every single facade, lies a weak and fragile human. That's what he taught me. Beyond evilness, greediness, happiness, there is a desperate soul shouting. It's in our nature to be weak, because that's who we are. From the beginning, to where we have evolved now, one thing has not changed.
How weak we truly are.
And no matter how many times I punch this punching bag, or how many miles I ran on that treadmill, I am still a weak person, that's all I'll ever be. My title doesn't matter, it's just who I am. It's who everybody is.
I rip off the punching gloves and the white wrap, sweat glistening against my arms making me look like this badass. I tug on my pink bunny ears slightly, and grab my bag. I see a blond haired boy strut into the gym, in a maroon tank top and black athletic shorts. My eyes couldn't roll more up, as a fiery annoyance tingles at the edges of my skin. I hold the ends of my bunny ears while I walk by him, and he just glances at me sideways. Blue eyed glance, like a serpent. I stare right back at him, with my blue eyes, looking at my arch nemesis, my enemy, the person I hate the most. Thinking like everybody is a weak human is refreshing in this circumstance. Because underneath those annoyingly overworked muscles, is a feeble soul.
I heave a sigh of relief, and it was my turn to strut.
=
My logic is flawed; everyone's logic is. It is weird to think of yourself the way you think of humans in general, because I don't think I am weak, but I am so very weak. I am weak and fragile, but I don't show it. You make acceptions for yourself because it's just easier. I guess that's why I am so disobedient, it's due to the neglecting I heave upon myself. People don't lie when they say you need to worry about yourself more than others. I guess I am sick of having nobody else to worry about, I cut off all ties with my friends, I reigned down a toxic relationship with my family, and I am left with nothing but an endless abyss of myself. It's like an infinite contraption of being trapped in yourself, loneliness can consume you to the point where you think you have yourself to lean on, but in reality, you're oh so desperately fucking alone. I used to know who I was, I used to have dreams and a purpose, but now I am just this nothingness consisted of microbial organisms breeding on me, multiplying at alarming rates. I am consisted of science, we all are, we're all these factual pieces of the universe. Of course, Earth, the human race, every single other species on this planet don't even make up 0.1% of the universe, and in an odd way, being insignificant comforts me. There is no greater beyond, death is the end, because we aren't important enough to have a greater beyond. We want to believe we are important enough for a God to exist, important enough for there to be a Heaven or Hell, but we're just nothing. That's all we are, that's all I am. It's weird thinking about it, because somebody can make you feel like something, but when you lose them and feel like nothing, you realized you were nothing all along.
So, why care? Why let the rules of the Earth shape you to be what the world wants you to be? Why not just be what you want to be? It's simple: because you'll never be what you want to be. It's in our human nature to never be content with ourselves, because you realize that it doesn't matter, since we're all complex equations of nothing in the end.
=
The dreaded Monday was breathing on my neck now, collapsing me into my self. The binding sun paralyzed me for a second, as I stretched out my short limbs to welcome a new day of merely existing. I get dressed in a jet black long sleeved shirt, and a pair of mom jeans that hugged my skinny waist. I wasn't always this skinny, nor this flat. I just am barely hungry nowadays, I usually only eat like a cookie and a sandwich a day.
